NTERCOURSE 


LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


ClMS 


HUMAN  INTERCOURSE. 


BY 


PHILIP    GILBERT    HAMERTON, 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    INTELLECTUAL    LIFE,"    "A    PAINTER'S  CAMP,"  "THOUGHTS 

ABOUT  ART,"    "CHAPTERS    ON   ANIMALS,"    "ROUND    MY    HOUSE,"    "THE 

SYLVAN  YEAR"  AND  "THE  UNKNOWN  RIVER,"  "  WENDERHOLME,' 

•'MODERN    FRENCHMEN,"     "LIFE    OF  J.  M.  W.    TURNER," 

"THE    GRAPHIC    ARTS,"    "ETCHING  AND   ETCHERS," 

"PARIS    IN    OLD   AND    PRESENT    TIMES," 

"HARRY   BLOUNT." 


"I  love  tranquil  solitude, 

And  such  society 
As  is  quiet,  wise,  and  good." 

SHBLLBY. 


tITY 

BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 
1898. 


AUTHOR'S    EDITION. 


JJrrsa : 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


tfje  jttemorg  of  Umersotu 


If  I  dedicate  this  book  on  Human  Intercourse  to  the 
memory  of  one  whose  voice  I  never  heard,  and  to 
whom  I  never  addressed  a  letter,  the  seeming  inappro- 
priateness  will  disappear  when  the  reader  knows  what 
a  great  and  persistent  influence  he  had  on  the  whole 
course  of  my  thinking,  and  therefore  on  all  my  work. 
He  was  told  of  this  before  his  death,  and  the  acknowl- 
edgment gave  him  pleasure.  Perhaps  this  public 
repetition  of  it  may  not  be  without  utility  at  a  time 
when,  although  it  is  clear  to  us  that  he  has  left  an 
immortal  name,  the  exact  nature  of  the  rank  he  will 
occupy  amongst  great  men  does  not  seem  to  be  evident 
as  yet.  The  embarrassment  of  premature  criticism  is 
a  testimony  to  his  originality.  But  although  it  may 
be  too  soon  for  us  to  know  what  his  name  will  mean 
to  posterity,  we  may  tell  posterity  what  service  he 
rendered  to  ourselves.  To  me  he  taught  two  great 
lessons.  The  first  was  to  rely  confidently  on  that 
order  of  the  universe  which  makes  it  always  reatty 
worth  while  to  do  our  best,  even  though  the  reward 
may  not  be  visible ;  and  the  second  was  to  have  self- 
reliance  enough  to  trust  our  own  convictions  and  our 


vi  DEDICA  TION. 

own  gifts,  such  as  they  are,  or  such  as  they  may  be- 
come, without  either  echoing  the  opinions  or  desiring 
the  more  brilliant  gifts  of  others.  JZmerson  taught 
much  besides  ;  but  it  is  these  two  doctrines  of  reliance 
on  the  compensations  of  Nature,  and  of  a  self-respect- 
ful reliance  on  our  own  individuality,  that  have  the 
most  invigorating  influence  on  workers  like  myself. 
Emerson  knew  that  each  of  us  can  only  receive  that 
for  which  he  has  an  affinity,  and  can  only  give  forth 
effectually  what  is  by  birthright,  or  has  become,  his 
own.  To  have  accepted  this  doctrine  with  perfect 
contentment  is  to  possess  one's  soul  in  peace. 

Emerson  combined  high  intellect  with  pure  honesty, 
and  remained  faithful  to  the  double  law  of  the  intel- 
lectual life  —  high  thinking  and  fearless  utterance  — 
to  the  end  of  his  days,  with  a  beautiful  persistence 
and  serenity.  So  now  I  go,  in  spirit,  a  pilgrim  to 
that  tall  pine-tree  that  grows  upon  "  the  hill-top  to  the 
east  of  Sleepy  Hollow"  and  lay  one  more  wreath  upon 
an  honored  grave. 


June  24, 


PEEFACE. 


WHEN  this  book  was  begun,  some  years  ago,  I 
made  a  formal  plan,  according  to  which  it  was 
to  have  been  one  long  Essay  or  Treatise,  divided  into 
sections  and  chapters,  and  presenting  that  apparently 
perfect  ordonnance  which  gives  such  an  imposing  air  to 
a  work  of  art.  I  say  "  apparently  perfect  ordonnance" 
because  in  such  cases  the  perfection  of  the  arrangement 
is  often  only  apparent,  and  the  work  is  like  those  formal 
pseudo-classical  buildings  that  seem,  with  their  regular 
columns,  spaces,  and  windows,  the  very  highest  ex- 
amples of  method ;  but  you  find  on  entering  that  the 
internal  distribution  of  space  is  defective  and  incon- 
venient, that  one  room  has  a  window  in  a  corner  and 
another  half  a  window,  that  one  is  needlessly  large  for 
its  emplo}'ment  and  another  far  too  small.  In  litera- 
ture the  ostentation  of  order  may  compel  an  author  to 
extreme  condensation  in  one  part  of  his  book  and  to 
excessive  amplification  in  another,  since,  in  reality,  the 
parts  of  his  subject  do  not  fall  more  naturall}'  into  equal 
divisions  than  words  beginning  with  different  letters  in 
the  dictionary.  I  therefore  soon  abandoned  external 
rigidity  of  order,  and  made  my  divisions  more  elastic ; 
but  I  went  still  further  after  some  experiments,  and 
abandoned  the  idea  of  a  Treatise.  This  was  not  done 
without  some  regret,  as  I  know  that  a  Treatise  has  a 


vm  PREFACE. 

better  chance  of  permanence  than  a  collection  of  Essays ; 
but,  in  this  case,  I  met  with  an  invisible  obstacle  that 
threatened  to  prevent  good  literary  execution.  After 
making  some  progress  I  felt  that  the  work  was  not  \rery 
readable,  and  that  the  writing  of  it  was  not  a  satisfac- 
tory occupation.  Whenever  this  happens  there  is  sure 
to  be  an  error  of  method  somewhere.  What  the  error 
was  in  this  case  I  did  not  discover  for  a  long  time,  but 
at  last  I  suddenly  perceived  it.  A  formal  Treatise,  to 
be  satisfactory,  can  only  be  written  about  ascertained 
or  ascertainable  laws ;  and  human  intercourse  as  it  is 
carried  on  between  individuals,  though  it  looks  so  acces- 
sible to  every  observer,  is  in  reality  a  subject  of  infinite 
mystery  and  obscurity,  about  which  hardly  anything  is 
known,  about  which  certainly  nothing  is  known  abso- 
lutely and  completely.  I  found  that  every  attempt  to 
ascertain  and  proclaim  a  law  only  ended,  when  the  sup- 
posed law  was  brought  face  to  face  with  nature,  by 
discovering  so  many  exceptions  that  the  best  practical 
rules  were  suspension  of  judgment  and  a  reliance  upon 
nothing  but  special  observation  in  each  particular  caseX 
I  found  that  in  real  human  intercourse  the  theoretically 
improbable,  or  even  the  theoretically  impossible,  was 
constantly  happening.  I  remember  a  case  in  real  life 
which  illustrates  this  very  forcibly.  A  certain  English 
lady,  influenced  by  the  received  ideas  about  human  in- 
tercourse which  define  the  conditions  of  it  in  a  hard  and 
sharp  manner,  was  strongly  convinced  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  her  to  have  friendly  relations  with  another 
lady  whom  she  had  never  seen,  but  was  likely  to  see 
frequently.  All  her  reasons  would  be  considered  excel- 
lent reasons  by  those  who  believe  in  maxims  and  rules. 
It  was  plain  that  there  could  be  nothing  in  common. 
The  other  lady  was  neither  of  the  same  country,  nor 


PREFACE.  ix 

of  the  same  religious  and  political  parties,  nor  exactly 
of  the  same  class,  nor  of  the  same  generation.  These 
facts  were  known,  and  the  inference  deduced  from  them 
was  that  intercourse  would  be  impossible.  After  some 
time  the  English  lady  began  to  perceive  that  the  case 
did  not  bear  out  the  supposed  rules  ;  she  discovered  that 
the  younger  lady  might  be  an  acceptable  friend.  At 
last  the  full  strange  truth  became  apparent,  —  that  she 
was  singularly  well  adapted,  better  adapted  than  any 
other  human  being,  to  take  a  filial  relation  to  the  elder, 
especially  in  times  of  sickness,  when  her  presence  was 
a  wonderful  support.  Then  the  warmest  affection 
sprang  up  between  the  two,  lasting  till  separation  by 
death  and  still  cherished  by  the  survivor.  What  be- 
comes of  rules  and  maxims  and  wise  old  saws  in  the 
face  of  nature  and  reality  ?  What  can  we  do  better  than 
to  observe  nature  with  an  open,  unprejudiced  mind,  and  I 
gather  some  of  the  results  of  observation  ? 

I  am  conscious  of  several  omissions  that  may  possibly 
be  rectified  in  another  volume  if  this  is  favorably  ac- 
cepted. The  most  important  of  these  are  the  influence 
of  age  on  intercourse,  and  the  effects  of  living  in  the 
same  house,  which  are  not  invariably  favorable.  Both 
these  subjects  are  very  important,  and  I  have  not  time 
to  treat  them  now  with  the  care  they  would  require. 
There  ought  also  to  have  been  a  careful  study  of  the 
natural  antagonisms,  which  are  of  terrible  importance 
when  people,  naturally  antagonistic,  are  compelled  by 
circumstances  to  live  together.  These  are,  however, 
generally  of  less  importance  than  the  affinities,  because 
we  contrive  to  make  our  intercourse  with  antagonistic 
people  as  short  and  rare  as  possible,  and  that  with  sym- 
pathetic people  as  frequent  and  long  as  circumstances 
will  permit. 


x  PREFA  CE. 

I  will  not  close  this  preface  without  saying  that  the 
happiness  of  sympathetic  human  intercourse  seems  to 
me  incomparably  greater  than  any  other  pleasure.  I 
may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  the  age  of  enthusiastic 
illusions,  yet  I  would  at  any  time  rather  pass  a  week 
with  a  real  friend  in  any  place  that  afforded  simple 
shelter  than  with  an  indifferent  person  in  a  palace.  In 
saying  this  I  am  thinking  of  real  experiences.  One  of 
my  friends  who  is  devoted  to  archaeological  excavations 
has  often  invited  me  to  share  his  life  in  a  hut  or  a  cot- 
tage, and  I  have  invariably  found  that  the  pleasure  of 
his  society  far  overbalanced  the  absence  of  luxury.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  have  sometimes  endured  extreme  ennui 
at  sumptuous  feasts  in  richly  appointed  houses.  The 
result  of  experience,  in  my  case,  has  been  to  confirm  a 
youthful  conviction  that  the  value  of  certain  persons  is 
not  to  be  estimated  by  comparison  with  anj^thing  else. 
I  was  always  a  believer,  and  am  so  at  this  day  more 
than  ever,  in  the  happiness  of  genuine  human  inter- 
course, but  I  prefer  solitude  to  the  false  imitation  of  it/\ 
It  is  in  this  as  in  other  pleasures,  the  better  we  appre- 
ciate the  real  thing,  the  less  we  are  disposed  to  accept 
the  spurious  copy  as  a  substitute.  By  far  the  greater 
part  of  what  passes  for  human  intercourse  is  not  inter- 
course at  all,  but  only  acting,  of  which  the  highest 
object  and  most  considerable  merit  is  to  conceal  the 
weariness  that  accompanies  its  hollow  observances. 

One  sad  aspect  of  my  subject  has  not  been  touched 
upon  in  this  volume.  It  was  often  present  in  my 
thoughts,  but  I  timidly  shrank  from  dealing  with  it. 
I  might  have  attempted  to  show  in  what  manner  inter- 
course is  cut  short  by  death.  All  reciprocity  of  inter- 
course is,  or  appears  to  be,  entirety  cut  short  by  that 
catastrophe ;  but  those  who  have  talked  with  us  much 


PREFACE.  xi 

in  former  years  retain  an  influence  that  may  be  even 
more  constant  than  our  recollection  of  them.  My  own 
recollection  of  the  dead  is  extremely  vivid  and  clear, 
and  I  cultivate  it  by  willingly  thinking  about  them, 
being  especially  happy  when  by  some  accidental  flash 
of  brighter  memory  a  more  than  usual  degree  of  lucidity 
is  obtained.  I  accept  with  resignation  the  natural  law, 
on  the  whole  so  beneficent,  that  when  an  organism  is 
no  longer  able  to  exist  without  suffering,  or  senile  de- 
crepitude, it  should  be  dissolved  and  made  insensible 
of  suffering ;  but  I  by  no  means  accept  the  idea  that 
the  dead  are  to  be  forgotten  in  order  that  we  may  spare 
ourselves  distress.  Let  us  give  them  their  due  place, 
their  great  place,  in  our  hearts  and  in  our  thoughts ; 
and  if  the  sweet  reciprocity  of  human  intercourse  is  no 
longer  possible  with  those  who  are  silent  and  asleep,  let 
the  memory  of  past  intercourse  be  still  a  part  of  our 
lives.  There  are  hours  when  we  live  with  the  dead 
more  than  with  the  living,  so  that  without  any  trace  of 
superstition  we  feel  their  old  sweet  influence  acting 
upon  us  yet,  and  it  seems  as  if  only  a  little  more  were 
needed  to  give  us  "the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand,  and 
the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 

Closely  connected  with  this  subject  of  death  is  the 
subject  of  religious  beliefs.  In  the  present  state  of 
confusion  and  change,  some  causes  of  which  are  indi- 
cated in  this  volume,  the  only  plain  course  for  honorable 
men  is  to  act  always  in  favor  of  truthfulness,  and  there- 
fore against  h3rpocrisy,  and  against  those  encouragere  of 
hypocrisy  who  offer  social  advantages  as  rewards  for  it. 
What  may  come  in  the  future  we  cannot  tell,  but  we 
may  be  sure  that  the  best  way  to  prepare  for  the  future 
is  to  be  honest  and  candid  in  the  present.  There  are 
two  causes  which  arc  gradually  effecting  a  great  change, 


xii  PREFACE. 

and  as  they  are  natural  causes  they  are  irresistibly  pow- 
erful. One  is  the  process  of  analytic  detachment,  by 
which  sentiments  and  feelings  once  believed  to  be  re- 
ligious are  now  found  to  be  separable  from  religion.  If 
a  French  peasant  has  a  feeling  for  architecture,  poetty, 
or  music,  or  an  appreciation  of  eloquence,  or  a  desire 
to  hear  a  kind  of  moral  philosophy,  he  goes  to  the  vil- 
lage church  to  satisfy  these  dim  incipient  desires.  In 
his  case  these  feelings  and  wants  are  all  confusedly  con- 
nected with  religion ;  in  ours  they  are  detached  from  it, 
and  only  reconnected  with  it  by  accident,  we  being  still 
aware  that  there  is  no  essential  identit}*.  That  is  the 
first  dissolving  cause.  It  seems  only  to  affect  the  ex- 
ternals of  religion,  but  it  goes  deeper  by  making  the 
consciously  religious  state  of  mind  less  habitual.  The 
second  cause  is  even  more  serious  in  its  effects.  We 
are  acquiring  the  habit  of  explaining  eve^thing  by, 
natural  causes,  and  of  trying  to  remedy  everything  by 
the  employment  of  natural  means.  Journals  dependent 
on  popular  approval  for  the  enormous  circulation  that 
is  necessary  to  their  existence  do  not  hesitate,  in  clear 
terms,  to  express  their  preference  of  natural  means  to 
the  invocation  of  supernatural  agencies.  For  example, 
the  correspondent  of  the  "Daily  News"  at  Port  Said, 
after  describing  the  annual  blessing  of  the  Suez  Canal  at 
the  Epiphany,  observes  :  "Thus  the  canal  was  solemnly 
blessed.  The  opinion  of  the  captains  of  the  ships  that 
throng  the  harbor,  waiting  until  the  block  adjusts  itself, 
is  that  it  would  be  better  to  widen  it."  Such  an  opinion 
is  perfectly  modern,  perfectly  characteristic  of  our  age. 
We  think  that  steam  excavators  and  dredgers  would  be 
more  likely  to  prevent  blocks  in  the  Suez  Canal  than 
a  priest  reading  prayers  out  of  a  book  and  throwing  a 
golden  cross  into  the  sea,  to  be  fished  up  again  by  divers. 


PREFACE.  xiii 

We  cannot  help  thinking  as  we  do :  our  opinion  has  not 
been  chosen  by  us  voluntarily,  it  has  been  forced  upon 
us  by  facts  that  we  cannot  help  seeing,  but  it  deprives 
us  of  an  opportunity  for  a  religious  emotion,  and  it 
separates  us,  on  that  point,  from  all  those  who  are  still 
capable  of  feeling  it.  I  have  given  considerable  space 
to  the  consideration  of  these  changes,  but  not  a  dis- 
proportionate space.  They  have  a  deplorable  effect  on 
human  intercourse  by  dividing  friends  and  families  into 
different  groups,  and  by  separating  those  who  might 
otherwise  have  enjoyed  friendship  unreservedly.  It  is 
probable,  too,  that  we  are  only  at  the  beginning  of  the 
conflict,  and  that  in  j'ears  not  immeasurably  distant 
there  will  be  fierce  struggles  on  the  most  irritating  of 
practical  issues.  To  name  but  one  of  these  it  is  prob- 
able that  there  will  be  a  sharp  struggle  when  a  strong 
and  determined  naturalist  party  shall  claim  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  young,  especially  with  regard  to  the  origin 
of  the  race,  the  beginnings  of  animal  life,  and  the  evi- 
dences of  intention  in  nature.  Loving,  as  I  do,  the 
amenities  of  a  peaceful  and  polished  civilization  much 
better  than  angry  controversy,  I  long  for  the  time  when 
these  great  questions  will  be  considered  as  settled  one 
way  or  the  other,  or  else,  if  they  are  beyond  our  intel- 
ligence, for  the  time  when  they  may  be  classed  as  in- 
soluble, so  that  men  may  work  out  their  destiny  without 
bitter  quarrels  about  their  origin.  The  present  at  least 
is  ours,  and  it  depends  upon  ourselves  whether  it  is  to 
be  wasted  in  vain  disputes  or  brightened  by  charity  and 
kindness. 


CONTENTS. 


ESSAY  PAOB 
I.   ON  THE   DIFFICULTY   OF   DISCOVERING   FIXED 

LAWS 3 

II.    INDEPENDENCE 12 

III.  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE 33 

IV.  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE 44 

V.    FAMILY  TIES     .    .   • 63 

VI.    FATHERS  AND  SONS 78 

VII.    THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  GUEST 99 

VIII.    THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP 110 

IX.    THE  FLUX  OF  WEALTH 119 

X.    DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH   ....  130 

XI.    THE  OBSTACLE  OF  LANGUAGE 148 

XII.    THE  OBSTACLE  OF  RELIGION 161 

XIII.  PRIESTS  AND  WOMEN 175 

XIV.  WHY    WE    ARE    APPARENTLY    BECOMING    LESS 

RELIGIOUS 205 

XV.  How  WE  ARE  REALLY  BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS  215 

XVI.  ON  AN  UNRECOGNIZED  FORM  OF  UNTRUTH  .  232 


xvi  CONTENTS. 

ESSAY  PAGE 

XVII.  ON  A  REMARKABLE  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY  .     .  239 

XVIII.  OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE 253 

XIX.  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE 264 

XX.  CONFUSIONS 280 

XXI.  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM 295 

XXII.  OF  COURTESY  IN  EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION  315 

XXIII.  LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP 336 

XXIV.  LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS 354 

XXV.  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS 370 

XXVI.  AMUSEMENTS   .  383 


INDEX  403 


HUMAN  INTERCOUKSE. 


HUMAN    INTERCOUKSE. 


ESSAY    I. 

ON   THE   DIFFICULTY   OF   DISCOVERING   FIXED 
LAWS. 

A  BOOK  on  Human  Intercourse  might  be  written 
•*•*•  in  a  variety  of  ways,  and  amongst  them  might 
be  an  attempt  to  treat  the  subject  in  a  scientific  manner 
so  as  to  elucidate  those  natural  laws  by  which  inter- 
course between  human  beings  must  be  regulated.  If 
we  knew  quite  perfectly  what  those  laws  are  we  should 
enjoy  the  great  convenience  of  being  able  to  predict 
with  certainty  which  men  and  women  would  be  able 
to  associate  with  pleasure,  and  which  would  be  con- 
strained or  repressed  in  each  other's  society.  Human 
intercourse  would  then  be  as  much  a  positive  science 
as  chemistry,  in  which  the  effects  of  bringing  substances 
together  can  be  foretold  with  the  utmost  accuracy. 
Some  very  distant  approach  to  this  scientific  state  may 
in  certain  instances  actually  be  made.  When  we  know 
the  characters  of  two  people  with  a  certain  degree  of 
precision  we  may  sometimes  predict  that  they  are  sure 
to  quarrel,  and  have  the  satisfaction  of  witnessing  the 
explosion  that  our  own  acumen  has  foretold.  To  detect 


4  ON  THE  DIFFICULTY  OF 

in  people  we  know  those  incompatibilities  that  are  the 
fatal  seeds  of  future  dissension  is  one  of  our  malicious 
pleasures.  An  acute  observer  really  has  considerable 
powers  of  prediction  and  calculation  with  reference  to 
individual  human  beings,  but  there  his  wisdom  ends. 
He  cannot  deduce  from  these  separate  cases  any  general 
rules  or  laws  that  can  be  firmly  relied  upon  as  every 
real  law  of  nature  can  be  relied  upon,  and  therefore  it 
may  be  concluded  that  such  rules  are  not  laws  of 
nature  at  all,  but  only  poor  and  untrustworthy  substi- 
tutes for  them. 

The  reason  for  this  difficulty  I  take  to  be  the  ex- 
treme complexity  of  human  nature  and  its  boundless 
variety,  which  make  it  always  probable  that  in  every 
mind  which  we  have  not  long  and  closely  studied  there 
will  be  elements  wholly  unknown  to  us.  How  often, 
with  regard  to  some  public  man,  who  is  known  to  us 
only  in  part  through  his  acts  or  his  writings,  are  we 
surprised  by  the  sudden  revelation  of  characteristics 
that  we  never  imagined  for  him  and  that  seem  almost 
incompatible  with  the  better  known  side  of  his  nature  ! 
How  much  the  more,  then,  are  we  likely  to  go  wrong 
in  our  estimates  of  people  we  know  nothing  about,  and 
how  impossible  it  must  be  for  us  to  determine  how  they 
are  likely  to  select  their  friends  and  companions  ! 

Certain  popular  ideas  appear  to  represent  a  sort  of 
rude  philosophy  of  human  intercourse.  There  is  the 
common  belief,  for  example,  that,  in  order  to  associate 
pleasantly  together,  people  should  be  of  the  same  class 
and  nearly  in  the  same  condition  of  fortune,  but  when 
we  turn  to  real  life  we  find  very  numerous  instances  in 


DISCOVERING  FIXED  LAWS.  5 

which  this  fancied  law  is  broken  with  tne  happiest 
results.  The  late  Duke  of  Albany  may  be  mentioned 
as  an  example.  No  doubt  his  own  natural  refinement 
would  have  prevented  him  from  associating  with  vulgar 
people ;  but  he  readily  associated  with  refined  and  cul- 
tivated people  who  had  no  pretension  to  rank.  His 
own  rank  was  a  power  in  his  hands  that  he  used  for 
good,  and  he  was  conscious  of  it,  but  it  did  not  isolate 
him  ;  he  desired  to  know  people  as  they  are,  and  was 
capable  of  feeling  the  most  sincere  respect  for  anybody 
who  deserved  it.  So  it  is,  generally,  with  all  who  have 
the  gifts  of  sympathy  and  intelligence.  Merely  to  avoid 
what  is  disagreeable  has  nothing  to  do  with  pride  of 
station.  Vulgar  society  is  disagreeable,  which  is  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  keeping  aloof  from  it.  Amongst  people 
of  refinement,  association  or  even  friendship  is  possible 
in  spite  of  differences  of  rank  and  fortune. 

Another  popular  belief  is  that  "  men  associate  to 
gether  when  they  are  interested  in  the  same  things." 
It  would,  however,  be  easy  to  adduce  very  numerous 
instances  in  which  an  interest  in  similar  things  has 
been  a  cause  of  quarrel,  when  if  one  of  the  two  parties 
had  regarded  those  things  with  indifference,  harmonious 
intercourse  might  have  been  preserved.  The  livelier 
our  interest  in  anything  the  more  does  acquiescence  in 
matters  of  detail  appear  essential  to  us.  Two  people 
are  both  of  them  extremely  religious,  but  one  of  them 
is  a  Mahometan,  and  the  other  a  Christian  ;  here  the  in- 
terest in  religion  causes  a  divergence,  enough  in  most 
cases  to  make  intercourse  impossible,  when  it  would 
have  been  quite  possible  if  both  parties  had  regarded 


6  ON  THE  DIFFICULTY  OF 

religion  with  indifference.  Bring  the  two  nearer  to- 
gether, suppose  them  to  be  both  Christians,  they  ac- 
knowledge one  law,  one  doctrine,  one  Head  of  the 
church  in  heaven.  Yes,  but  they  do  not  acknowledge 
the  same  head  of  it  on  earth,  for  one  accepts  the 
Papal  supremacy,  which  the  other  denies;  and  their 
common  Christianity  is  a  feeble  bond  of  union  in  com- 
parison with  the  forces  of  repulsion  contained  in  a 
multitude  of  details.  Two  nominal,  indifferent  Chris- 
tians who  take  no  interest  in  theology  would  have  a 
better  chance  of  agreeing.  Lastly,  suppose  them  to 
be  both  members  of  the  Church  of  England,  one  of  the 
old  school,  with  firm  and  settled  beliefs  on  every  point 
and  a  horror  of  the  most  distant  approaches  to  heresy, 
the  other  of  the  new  school,  vague,  indeterminate,  desir- 
ing to  preserve  his  Christianity  as  a  sentiment  when  it 
has  vanished  as  a  faith,  thinking  that  the  Bible  is  not 
true  in  the  old  sense  but  only  "  contains"  truth,  that 
the  divinity  of  Christ  is  "  a  past  issue,"  *  and  that  evo- 
lution is,  on  the  whole,  more  probable  than  direct  and 
intentional  creation, — what  possible  agreement  can 
exist  between  these  two?  If  they  both  care  about 
religious  topics,  and  talk  about  them,  will  not  their 
disagreement  be  in  exact  proportion  to  the  liveliness 
of  their  interest  in  the  subject?  So  in  a  realm  with 
which  I  have  some  acquaintance,  that  of  the  fine  arts, 
discord  is  always  probable  between  those  who  have  a 
passionate  delight  in  art.  Innocent,  well-intentioned 
friends  think  that  because  two  men  "like  painting," 
they  ought  to  be  introduced,  as  they  are  sure  to  amuse 
1  An  expression  used  to  me  by  a  learned  Doctor  of  Oxford. 


DISCOVERING  FIXED  LAWS.  1 

each  other.  In  reality,  their  tastes  may  be  more  op- 
posed than  the  taste  of  either  of  them  is  to  perfect 
indifference.  One  has  a  severe  taste  for  beautiful  form 
and  an  active  contempt  for  picturesque  accidents  and 
romantic  associations,  the  other  feels  chilled  by  severe 
beauty  and  delights  in  the  picturesque  and  romantic. 
If  each  is  convinced  of  the  superiority  of  his  own 
principles  he  will  deduce  from  them  an  endless  series 
of  judgments  that  can  only  irritate  the  other. 

Seeing  that  nations  are  always  hostile  to  each  other, 
always  watchfully  jealous  and  inclined  to  rejoice  in 
every  evil  that  happens  to  a  neighbor,  it  would  appear 
safe  to  predict  that  little  intercourse  could  exist  be- 
tween persons  of  different  nationalit}'.  When,  however, 
we  observe  the  facts  as  they  are  in  real  life,  we  per- 
ceive that  very  strong  and  durable  friendships  often 
exist  between  men  who  are  not  of  the  same  nation,  and 
that  the  chief  obstacle  to  the  formation  of  these  is  not 
so  much  nationalit}*  as  difference  of  language.  There 
is,  no  doubt,  a  prejudice  that  one  is  not  likely  to  get 
on  well  with  a  foreigner,  and  the  prejudice  has  often 
the  effect  of  keeping  people  of  different  nationality 
apart,  but  when  once  it  is  overcome  it  is  often  found 
that  very  powerful  feelings  of  mutual  respect  and  sym- 
pathy draw  the  strangers  together.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  is  not  the  least  assurance  that  the  mere  fact  of 
being  born  in  the  same  country  will  make  two  men 
regard  each  other  with  kindness.  An  Englishman 
repels  another  Englishman  when  he  meets  him  on  the 
Continent.1  The  only  just  conclusion  is  that  nationality 

1  The  causes  of  this  curious  repulsion  are  inquired  into  eUe- 

where  in  this  volume. 


8  ON  THE  DIFFICULTY  OF 

affords  no  certain  rule  either  in  favor  of  intercourse 
or  against  it.  A  man  may  possibly  be  drawn  towards 
a  foreign  nationality  by  his  appreciation  of  its  excel- 
lence in  some  art  that  he  loves,  but  this  is  the  case  only 
when  the  excellence  is  of  the  peculiar  kind  that  supplies 
the  needs  of  his  own  intelligence.  The  French  excel 
in  painting ;  that  is  to  say,  that  many  Frenchmen  have 
attained  a  certain  kind  of  excellence  in  certain  depart- 
ments of  the  art  of  painting.  Englishmen  and  Ameri- 
cans who  value  that  particular  kind  of  excellence  are 
often  strongly  drawn  towards  Paris  as  an  artistic  centre 
or  capital ;  and  this  opening  of  their  minds  to  French 
influence  in  art  may  admit  other  French  influences  at 
the  same  time,  so  that  the  ultimate  effect  of  a  love  of 
art  may  be  a  breaking  down  of  the  barrier  of  nation- 
ality. It  seldom  happens  that  Frenchmen  are  drawn 
towards  England  and  America  by  their  love  of  painting, 
but  it  frequently  happens  that  they  become  in  a  meas- 
ure Anglicized  -or  Americanized  either  by  the  serious 
stud}'  of  nautical  science,  or  by  the  love  of  yachting 
as  an  amusement,  in  which  they  look  to  England  and 
America  both  for  the  most  advanced  theories  and  the 
newest  examples. 

The  nearest  approach  ever  made  to  a  general  rule 
may  be  the  affirmation  that  likeness  is  the  secret  of 
companionship.  This  has  a  great  look  of  probability, 
and  may  really  be  the  reason  for  many  associations, 
but  after  observing  others  we  might  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  an  opposite  law  would  be  at  least  equally 
applicable.  We  might  sa}r  that  a  companion,  to  be 
interesting,  ought  to  bring  new  elements,  and  not  be  a 


DISCOVERING  FIXED  LAWS.  9 

repetition  of  our  own  too  familiar  personalty.  We 
have  enough  of  ourselves  in  ourselves ;  we  desire  a 
companion  who  will  relieve  us  from  the  bounds  of  our 
thoughts,  as  a  neighbor  opens  his  garden  to  us,  and 
delivers  us  from  our  own  hedges.  But  if  the  unlikeness 
is  so  great  that  mutual  understanding  is  impossible, 
then  it  is  too  great.  We  fancy  that  we  should  like  to 
know  this  or  that  author,  because  we  feel  a  certain 
sympathy  with  him  though  he  is  very  different  from 
us,  but  there  are  other  writers  whom  we  do  not  desire 
to  know  because  we  are  aware  of  a  difference  too  ex- 
cessive for  companionship. 

The  only  approximation  to  a  general  law  that  I  would 
venture  to  affirm  is  that  the  strongest  reason  why  men 
are  drawn  together  is  not  identity  of  class,  not  identity 
of  race,  not  a  common  interest  in  any  particular  art  or 
science,  but  because  there  is  something  in  their  idios}rn- 
crasies  that  gives  a  charm  to  intercourse  between  the 
two.  What  it  is  I  cannot  tell,  and  I  have  never  met 
with  the  wise  man  who  was  able  to  enlighten  me. 

It  is  not  respect  for  character,  seeing  that  we  often 
respect  people  heartity  without  being  able  to  enjoy  their 
societ}'.  It  is  a  n^sterious  suitableness  or  adaptability, 
and  how  mysterious  it  is  may  be  in  some  degree  real- 
ized when  we  reflect  that  we  cannot  account  for  our 
own  preferences.  I  try  to  explain  to  myself,  for  my 
own  intellectual  satisfaction,  how  and  why  it  is  that  I 
take  pleasure  in  the  society  of  one  very  dear  friend. 
He  is  a  most  able,  honorable,  and  high-minded  man, 
but  others  are  all  that,  and  they  give  me  no  pleasure. 
My  friend  and  I  have  really  not  very  much  in  common, 


10  ON  THE  DIFFICULTY  OF 

far  less  than  I  have  with  some  perfectly  indifferent 
people.  I  only  know  that  we  are  always  glad  to  be 
together,  that  each  of  us  likes  to  listen  to  the  other,  and 
that  we  have  talked  for  innumerable  hours.  Neither 
does  my  affection  blind  me  to  his  faults.  I  see  them  as 
clearly  as  if  I  were  his  enemy,  and  doubt  not  that  he 
sees  mine.  There  is  no  illusion,  and  there  has  been  no 
change  in  our  sentiments  for  twenty  years. 

As  a  contrast  to  this  instance  I  think  of  others  in 
which  everj'thing  seems  to  have  been  prepared  on 
purpose  for  facility  of  intercourse,  in  which  there  is  simi- 
larity of  pursuits,  of  language,  of  education,  of  every 
thing  that  is  likely  to  permit  men  to  talk  easily  together, 
and  yet  there  is  some  obstacle  that  makes  any  real  in- 
tercourse impossible.  What  the  obstacle  is  I  am  unable 
to  explain  even  to  myself.  It  need  not  be  any  unkind 
feeling,  nor  any  feeling  of  disapprobation ;  there  may 
be  good-will  on  both  sides  and  a  mutual  desire  for  a 
greater  degree  of  intimacy,  yet  with  all  this  the  intimacy 
does  not  come,  and  such  intercourse  as  we  have  is  that 
of  simple  politeness.  In  these  cases  each  party  is  apt 
to  think  that  the  other  is  reserved,  when  there  is  no 
wish  to  be  reserved  but  rather  a  desire  to  be  as  open  as 
the  unseen  obstacle  will  allow.  The  existence  of  the 
obstacle  does  not  prevent  respect  and  esteem  or  even 
a  considerable  degree  of  affection.  It  divides  people 
who  seem  to  be  on  the  most  friendly  terms ;  it  divides 
even  the  nearest  relations,  brother  from  brother,  and 
the  son  from  the  father.  Nobody  knows  exactly  what 
it  is,  but  we  have  a  word  for  it,  —  we  call  it  incompati- 
bility. The  difficulty  of  going  farther  and  explaining 


DISCOVERING  FIXED  LAWS.  11 

the  real  nature  of  Incompatibility  is  that  it  takes  as 
man}7  shapes  as  there  are  varieties  in  the  characters 
of  mankind. 

Sympathy  and  incompatibility,  —  these  are  the  two 
great  powers  that  decide  for  us  whether  intercourse  is 
to  be  possible  or  not,  but  the  causes  of  them  are  dark 
mysteries  that  lie  undiscovered  far  down  in  the  "  abys- 
mal deeps  of  personality." 


12  INDEPENDENCE. 


ESSAY    II. 

INDEPENDENCE. 

'"T^HERE  is  an  illusory  and  unattainable  indepen- 
-*-  dence  which  is  a  mere  dream,  but  there  is  also  a 
reasonable  and  attainable  independence  not  really  in- 
consistent with  our  obligations  to  humanity  and  our 
country. 

The  dependence  of  the  individual  upon  the  race  has 
never  been  so  fully  recognized  as  now,  so  that  there 
is  little  fear  of  its  being  overlooked.  The  danger  of 
our  age,  and  of  the  future,  is  rather  that  a  reasonable 
and  possible  independence  should  be  made  needlessly 
difficult  to  attain  and  to  preserve. 

The  distinction  between  the  two  ma}'  be  conveniently 
illustrated  by  a  reference  to  literary  production.  Every 
educated  man  is  dependent  upon  his  own  country  for 
the  language  that  he  uses ;  and  again,  that  language  is 
itself  dependent  on  other  languages  from  which  it  is 
derived;  and,  farther,  the  modern  author  is  indebted 
for  a  continual  stimulus  and  many  a  suggestion  to  the 
writings  of  his  predecessors,  not  in  his  own  country 
only  but  in  far  distant  lands.  He  cannot,  therefore, 
say  in  any  absolute  way,  "  My  books  are  my  own,*'  but 
he  may  preserve  a  certain  mental  independence  which 
will  allow  him  to  sa}"  that  with  truth  in  a  relative  sense. 
If  he  expresses  himself  such  as  he  is,  an  idiosyncrasy 


INDEPENDENCE.  18 

affected  but  not  annihilated  by  education,  he  may  say 
that  his  books  are  his  own. 

Few  English  authors  have  studied  past  literature 
more  willingly  than  Shelley  and  Tennj'son,  and  none 
are  more  original.  In  these  cases  idiosyncrasy  has 
been  affected  by  education,  but  instead  of  being  annihi- 
lated thereby  it  has  gained  from  education  the  means 
of  expressing  its  own  inmost  self  more  clearly.  We 
have  the  true  Shelley,  the  born  Tennyson,  far  more 
perfectly  than  we  should  ever  have  possessed  them  if 
their  own  minds  had  not  been  opened  by  the  action  of 
other  minds.  Culture  is  like  wealth,  it  makes  us  more 
ourselves,  it  enables  us  to  express  ourselves.  The 
real  nature  of  the  poor  and  the  ignorant  is  an  obscure 
and  doubtful  problem,  for  we  can  never  know  the  In- 
born powers  that  remain  in  them  undeveloped  till  they 
die.  In  this  way  the  help  of  the  race,  so  far  from 
being  unfavorable  to  individuality,  Is  necessary  to  it 
Claude  helped  Turner  to  become  Turner.  In  complete 
isolation  from  art,  however  magnificently  surrounded 
by  the  beauties  of  the  natural  world,  a  man  does  not 
express  his  originality  as  a  landscape-painter,  he  is 
simply  incapable  of  expressing  anything  in  paint. 

But  now  let  us  inquire  whether  there  may  not  be 
cases  in  which  the  labors  of  others,  instead  of  helping 
originality  to  express  itself,  act  as  a  check  to  it  by 
making  originality  superfluous. 

As  an  illustration  of  this  possibility  I  may  take  the 
modern  railway  system.  Here  we  have  the  labor  and 
ingenuity  of  the  race  applied  to  travelling,  greatly  to 
the  convenience  of  the  individual,  but  in  a  manner 


14  INDEPENDENCE. 

which  is  totally  repressive  of  originality  and  indifferent 
to  personal  tastes.  People  of  the  most  different  idiosyn- 
crasies travel  exactly  in  the  same  way.  The  landscape- 
painter  is  hurried  at  speed  past  beautiful  spots  that  he 
would  like  to  contemplate  at  leisure  ;  the  archaeologist 
is  whirled  by  the  site  of  a  Roman  camp  that  he  would 
willingly  pause  to  examine  ;  the  mountaineer  is  not  per- 
mitted to  climb  the  tunnelled  hill,  nor  the  swimmer  to 
cross  in  his  own  refreshing,  natural  way  the  breadth  of 
the  iron-spanned  river.  And  as  individual  tastes  are 
disregarded,  so  individual  powers  are  left  uncultivated 
and  unimproved.  The  only  talent  required  is  that  of 
sitting  passively  on  a  seat  and  of  enduring,  for  hours 
together,  an  unpleasant  though  mitigated  vibration. 
The  skill  and  courage  of  the  horseman,  the  endurance 
of  the  pedestrian,  the  art  of  the  paddler  or  the  oarsman, 
are  all  made  superfluous  by  this  S3'stem  of  travelling 
by  machines,  in  which  previous  labors  of  engineers 
and  mechanics  have  determined  everything  beforehand. 
Happily,  the  love  of  exercise  and  enterprise  has  pro- 
duced a  reaction  of  individualism  against  this  levelling 
railway  system,  a  reaction  that  shows  itself  in  many 
kinds  of  slower  but  more  adventurous  locomotion  and 
restores  to  the  individual  creature  his  lost  independence 
by  allowing  him  to  pause  and  stop  when  he  pleases  ;  a 
reaction  delightful  to  him  especially  in  this,  that  it 
gives  him  some  pride  and  pleasure  in  the  use  of  his 
own  muscles  and  his  own  wits.  There  are  still,  hap- 
pily, Englishmen  who  would  rather  steer  a  cutter  across 
the  Channel  in  rough  weather  than  be  shot  through  a 
long  hole  in  the  chalk. 


INDEPENDENCE.  15 

What  the  railway  is  to  physical  motion,  settled  con- 
ventions are  to  the  movements  of  the  mind.  Conven- 
tion is  a  contrivance  for  facilitating  what  we  write 
or  speak  by  which  we  are  relieved  from  personal  ef- 
fort and  almost  absolved  from  personal  responsibility. 
There  are  men  whose  whole  art  of  living  consists  in 
passing  from  one  conventionalism  to  another  as  a  trav- 
eller changes  his  train.  Such  men  may  be  envied  for 
the  skill  with  which  they  avoid  the  difficulties  of  life. 
They  take  their  religion,  their  politics,  their  education, 
their  social  and  literary  opinions,  all  as  provided  by  the 
brains  of  others,  and  they  glide  through  existence  with 
a  minimum  of  personal  exertion.  For  those  who  are 
satisfied  with  easy,  conventional  ways  the  desire  for 
intellectual  independence  is  unintelligible.  What  is 
the  need  of  it?  Why  go,  mentally,  on  a  bicycle  or  in  a 
canoe  by  your  own  toilsome  exertions  when  you  may 
sit  so  very  comfortably  in  the  train,  a  rug  round  your 
lazy  legs  and  your  softly  capped  head  in  a  corner? 

The  French  ideal  of  "  good  form  "is  to  be  undistin- 
guishable  from  others ;  by  which  it  is  not  understood 
that  you  are  to  be  undistinguishable  from  the  multitude 
of  poor  people,  but  one  of  the  smaller  crowd  of  rich 
and  fashionable  people.  Independence  and  originality 
are  so  little  esteemed  in  what  is  called  "  good  society  " 
in  France  that  the  adjectives  " independent"  and 
"original"  are  constantly  used  in  a  bad  sense.  "A 
est  tres  independant "  often  means  that  the  man  is  of 
a  rude,  insubordinate,  rebellious  temper,  unfitting  him 
for  social  life.  "11  est  original,"  or  more  contempt- 
uously, "  U'est  un  original"  means  that  the  subject  of  the 


16  INDEPENDENCE. 

criticism  has  views  of  his  own  which  are  not  the  fash- 
ionable views,  and  which  therefore  (whatever  may  be 
their  accuracy)  are  proper  objects  of  well-bred  ridicule. 

I  cannot  imagine  any  state  of  feeling  more  destruc- 
tive of  all  interest  in  human  intercourse  than  this,  for 
if  on  going  into  society  I  am  only  to  hear  the  fashiona- 
ble opinions  and  sentiments,  what  is  the  gain  to  me  who 
know  them  too  well  already?  I  could  even  repeat 
them  quite  accurately  with  the  proper  conventional 
tone,  so  why  put  myself  to  inconvenience  to  hear  that 
dull  and  wearisome  play  acted  over  again?  The  only 
possible  explanation  of  the  pleasure  that  French  people 
of  some  rank  appear  to  take  in  hearing  things,  which 
are  as  stale  as  they  are  inaccurate,  repeated  by  every 
one  the}7  know,  is  that  the  repetition  of  them  appears 
to  be  one  of  the  signs  of  gentilit}7,  and  to  give  alike  to 
those  who  utter  them  and  to  those  who  hear,  the  pro- 
found satisfaction  of  feeling  that  they  are  present  at 
the  mysterious  rites  of  Caste. 

There  is  probably  no  place  in  the  whole  world  where 
the  feeling  of  mental  independence  is  so  complete  as  it 
is  in  London.  There  is  no  place  where  differences  of 
opinion  are  more  marked  in  character  or  more  frank 
and  open  in  expression  ;  but  what  strikes  one  as  partic- 
ularly admirable  in  London  is  that  in  the  present  day 
(it  has  not  alwa}Ts  been  so)  men  of  the  most  opposite 
opinions  and  the  most  various  tastes  can  profess  their 
opinions  and  indulge  their  tastes  without  inconvenient 
consequences  to  themselves,  and  there  is  hardly  any 
opinion,  or  any  eccentricity,  that  excludes  a  man  from 
pleasant  social  intercourse  if  he  does  not  make  himself 


INDEPENDENCE.  17 

Impossible  and  intolerable  by  bad  manners.  This  inde- 
pendence gives  a  savor  to  social  intercourse  in  London 
that  is  lamentably  wanting  to  it  elsewhere.  There  is  a 
strange  and  novel  pleasure  (to  one  who  lives  habitually 
in  the  countr}')  in  hearing  men  and  women  say  what 
they  think  without  deference  to  any  local  public  opinion. 

In  many  small  places  this  local  public  opinion  is  so 
despotic  that  there  is  no  individual  independence  in 
society,  and  it  then  becomes  necessar}'  that  a  man  who 
values  his  independence,  and  desires  to  keep  it,  should 
learn  the  art  of  living  contentedly  outside  of  society. 

It  has  often  occurred  to  me  to  reflect  that  there  are 
many  men  in  London  who  enjo}-  a  pleasant  and  even 
a  high  social  position,  who  live  with  intelligent  people, 
and  even  with  people  of  great  wealth  and  exalted  rank, 
and  yet  who,  if  their  lot  had  been  cast  in  certain  small 
provincial  towns,  would  have  found  themselves  rigor- 
ously excluded  from  the  upper  local  circles,  if  not  from 
all  circles  whatsoever. 

I  have  sometimes  asked  myself,  when  travelling  on 
the  railway  through  France,  and  visiting  for  a  few 
hours  one  of  those  sleepy  little  old  cities,  to  me  so 
delightful,  in  which  the  student  of  architecture  and  the 
lover  of  the  picturesque  find  so  much  to  interest  them, 
what  would  have  been  the  career  of  a  man  having,  for 
example,  the  capacity  and  the  convictions  of  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, if  he  had  passed  all  the  years  of  his  manhood  in 
such  a  place. 

It  commonly  happens  that  when  Nature  endows  a 
man  with  a  vigorous  personality  and  its  usual  accom- 
paniment, an  independent  way  of  seeing  things,  she 

2 


18  INDEPENDENCE. 

gives  him  at  the  same  time  powerful  talents  with  which 
to  defend  his  own  originality ;  but  in  a  small  and  an- 
cient cit}r,  where  everything  is  traditional,  intellectual 
force  is  of  no  avail,  and  learning  is  of  no  use.  In  such 
a  city,  where  the  upper  class  is  an  exclusive  caste 
impenetrable  b}r  ideas,  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  be  ineffectual,  and  if  exercised  at  all  would  be 
considered  in  bad  taste.  His  learning,  even,  would 
tend  to  separate  him  from  the  unlearned  local  aris- 
tocracy. The  simple  fact  that  he  is  in  favor  of  par- 
liamentary government,  without  any  more  detailed 
information  concerning  his  political  opinions,  would 
put  him  beyond  the  pale,  for  parliamenta^  government 
is  execrated  by  the  French  rural  aristocracy,  who  toler- 
ate nothing  short  of  a  determined  monarchical  absolu- 
tism. His  religious  views  would  be  looked  upon  as  those 
of  a  low  Dissenter,  and  it  would  be  remembered  against 
him  that  his  father  was  in  trade.  Such  is  the  difference, 
as  a  field  for  talent  and  originality,  between  London 
and  an  aristocratic  little  French  city,  that  those  very 
qualities  which  have  raised  our  Prime  Minister  to  a  not 
undeserved  pre-eminence  in  the  great  place  would  have 
kept  him  out  of  society  in  the  small  one.  He  might, 
perhaps,  have  talked  politics  in  some  cafe  with  a  few 
shop-keepers  and  attorneys. 

It  may  be  objected  that  Mr.  Gladstone,  as  an  Eng- 
lish Liberal,  would  naturally  be  out  of  place  in  France 
and  little  appreciated  there,  so  I  will  take  the  cases  of 
a  Frenchman  in  France  and  an  Englishman  in  England. 
A  brave  French  officer,  who  was  at  the  same  time  a 
gentleman  of  ancient  lineage  and  good  estate,  chose 


INDEPENDENCE.  19 

(for  reasons  of  his  own  which  had  no  connection  with 
social  intercourse)  to  live  upon  a  property  that  hap- 
pened to  be  situated  in  a  part  of  France  where  the 
aristocracy  was  strongly  Catholic  and  reactionary.  He 
then  found  himself  excluded  from  "  good  society,"  be- 
cause he  was  a  Protestant  and  a  friend  to  parliamentary 
government.  Reasons  of  this  kind,  or  the  counter- 
reasons  of  Catholicism  and  disapprobation  of  parlia- 
ments, would  not  exclude  a  polished  and  amiable 
gentleman  from  society  in  London.  I  have  read  in  a 
biographical  notice  of  Sidney  Dobell  that  when  he  lived 
at  Cheltenham  he  was  excluded  from  the  society  of  the 
place  because  his  parents  were  Dissenters  and  he  had 
been  in  trade. 

In  cases  of  this  kind,  where  exclusion  is  due  to  hard 
prejudices  of  caste  or  of  religion,  a  man  who  has  all 
the  social  gifts  of  good  manners,  kind-heartedness, 
culture,  and  even  wealth,  may  find  himself  outside  the 
pale  if  he  lives  in  or  near  a  small  place  where  society 
is  a  strong  little  clique  well  organized  on  definitely 
understood  principles.  There  are  situations  in  which 
exclusion  of  that  kind  means  perfect  solitude.  It  may 
be  argued  that  to  escape  solitude  the  victim  has  nothing 
to  do  but  associate  with  a  lower  class,  but  this  is  not 
easy  or  natural,  especially  when,  as  in  DobelTs  case, 
there  is  intellectual  culture.  Those  who  have  refined 
manners  and  tastes  and  a  love  for  intellectual  pursuits, 
usually  find  themselves  disqualified  for  entering  with 
any  real  heartiness  and  enjoyment  into  the  social  life 
of  classes  where  these  tastes  are  undeveloped,  and 
where  the  thoughts  flow  in  two  channels, — the  serious 


20  INDEPENDENCE. 

channel,  studded  with  anxieties  about  the  means  of 
existence,  and  the  humorous  channel,  which  is  a  diver- 
sion from  the  other.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  any- 
thing that  might  imply  any  shade  of  contempt  or 
disapprobation  of  the  humorous  spirit  that  is  Nature's 
own  remedy  for  the  evils  of  an  anxious  life.  It  does 
more  for  the  mental  health  of  the  middle  classes  than 
could  be  done  by  the  most  sublimated  culture ;  and  if 
anj'thing  concerning  it  is  a  subject  for  regret  it  is  that 
culture  makes  us  incapable  of  enjoying  poor  jokes.  It 
is,  however,  a  simple  matter  of  fact  that  although  men 
of  great  culture  may  be  humorists  (Mr.  Lowell  is  a 
brilliant  example) ,  their  humor  is  both  more  profound 
in  the  serious  intention  that  lies  under  it,  and  vastly 
more  extensive  in  the  field  of  its  operations  than  the 
trivial  humor  of  the  uneducated ;  whence  it  follows 
that  although  humor  is  the  faculty  by  which  different 
classes  are  brought  most  easily  into  cordial  relations, 
the  humorist  who  has  culture  will  probably  find  him- 
self a  Detroit  with  humorists  who  have  none,  whilst 
the  cultured  man  who  has  no  humor,  or  whose  humor- 
ous tendencies  have  been  overpowered  by  serious 
thought,  is  so  terribly  isolated  in  uneducated  society 
that  he  feels  less  alone  in  solitude.  To  realize  this 
truth  in  its  full  force,  the  reader  has  only  to  imagine 
John  Stuart  Mill  trying  to  associate  with  one  of  those 
middle-class  families  that  Dickens  loved  to  describe, 
such  as  the  Wardle  family  in  Pickwick. 

It  follows  from  these  considerations  that  unless  a 
man  lives  in  London,  or  in  some  other  great  capital 
city,  he  may  easily  find  himself  so  situated  that  he 
must  learn  the  art  of  being  happy  without  society. 


INDEPENDENCE.  21 

As  there  is  no  pleasure  in  military  life  for  a  soldier 
who  fears  death,  so  there  is  no  independence  in  civil 
existence  for  the  man  who  has  an  overpowering  dread 
of  solitude. 

There  are  two  good  reasons  against  the  excessive 
dread  of  solitude.  The  first  is  that  solitude  is  very 
rarely  so  absolute  as  it  appears  from  a  distance ;  and 
the  second  is  that  when  the  evil  is  real,  and  almost 
complete,  there  are  palliatives  that  may  lessen  it  to 
such  a  degree  as  to  make  it,  at  the  worst,  supportable, 
and  at  the  best  for  some  natures  even  enjoyable  in  a 
rather  sad  and  melancholy  wa}T. 

Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves  with  conventional  notions 
on  the  subject.  The  world  calls  u  solitude"  that  con- 
dition in  which  a  man  lives  outside  of  "society,"  or, 
in  other  words,  the  condition  in  which  he  does  not  pay 
formal  calls  and  is  not  invited  to  state  dinners  and 
dances.  Such  a  condition  may  be  veiy  lamentable, 
and  deserving  of  polite  contempt,  but  it  need  not  be 
absolute  solitude. 

Absolute  solitude  would  be  the  state  of  Crusoe  on 
the  desert  island,  severed  from  human  kind  and  never 
hearing  a  human  voice  ;  but  this  is  not  the  condition  of 
any  one  in  a  civilized  country  who  is  out  of  a  prison 
cell.  Suppose  that  I  am  travelling  in  a  country  where 
I  am  a  perfect  stranger,  and  that  I  stay  for  some  days 
in  a  village  where  I  do  not  know  a  soul.  In  a  surpris- 
ingly short  time  I  shall  have  made  acquaintances  and 
begun  to  acquire  rather  a  home-like  feeling  in  the  place. 
My  new  acquaintances  may  possibly  not  be  rich  and 
fashionable :  they  may  be  the  rural  postman,  the  inn- 


22  INDEPENDENCE. 

keeper,  the  stone-breaker  on  the  roadside,  the  radical 
cobbler,  and  perhaps  a  mason  or  a  joiner  and  a  few 
more  or  less  untidy  little  children ;  but  every  morning 
their  greeting  becomes  more  friendly,  and  so  I  feel 
myself  connected  still  with  that  great  human  race  to 
which,  whatever  may  be  my  sins  against  the  narrow 
laws  of  caste  and  class,  I  still  unquestionably  belong. 
It  is  a  positive  advantage  that  our  meetings  should  be 
accidental  and  not  so  long  as  to  involve  any  of  the 
embarrassments  of  formal  social  intercourse,  as  I  could 
not  promise  myself  that  the  attempt  to  spend  a  whole 
evening  with  these  humble  friends  might  not  cause 
difficulties  for  me  and  for  them.  All  I  maintain  is  that 
these  little  chance  talks  and  greetings  have  a  tendency 
to  keep  me  cheerful  and  preserve  me  from  that  moody 
state  of  mind  to  which  the  quite  lonely  man  exposes 
himself.  As  to  the  substance  and  quality  of  our  con- 
versations, I  amuse  myself  by  comparing  them  with 
conversations  between  more  genteel  people,  and  do  not 
always  perceive  that  the  disparity  is  very  wide.  Poor 
men  often  observe  external  facts  with  the  greatest 
shrewdness  and  accurac}7,  and  have  interesting  things 
to  tell  when  they  see  that  you  set  up  no  barrier  of  pride 
against  them.  Perhaps  the}7  do  not  know  much  about 
architecture  and  the  graphic  arts,  but  on  these  subjects 
they  are  devoid  of  the  false  pretensions  of  the  upper 
classes,  which  is  an  unspeakable  comfort  and  relief. 
The}7  teach  us  many  things  that  are  worth  knowing. 
Humble  and  poor  people  were  amongst  the  best  edu- 
cators of  Shakspeare,  Scott,  Dickens,  Wordsworth, 
George  Eliot.  Even  old  Homer  learned  from  them 


INDEPENDENCE.  23 

touches  of  nature  which  have  done  as  much  for  his 
immortality  as  the  fire  of  his  wrathful  kings. 

Let  me  give  the  reader  an  example  of  this  chance 
intercourse  just  as  it  really  occurred.  I  was  drawing 
architectural  details  in  and  about  a  certain  foreign 
cathedral,  and  had  the  usual  accompaniment  of  youthful 
spectators  who  liked  to  watch  me  working,  as  greater 
folks  watch  fashionable  artists  in  their  studios.  Some- 
times the}T  rather  incommoded  me,  but  on  my  com- 
plaining of  the  inconvenience,  two  of  the  bigger  bo3*s 
acted  as  policemen  to  defend  me,  which  they  did  with 
stern  authority  and  promptness.  After  that  one  highly 
intelligent  little  boy  brought  paper  and  pencil  from  his 
father's  house  and  set  himself  to  draw  what  I  was 
drawing.  The  subject  was  far  too  difficult  for  him,  but 
I  gave  him  a  simpler  one,  and  in  a  very  short  time  he 
was  a  regular  pupil.  Inspired  by  his  example,  three 
other  little  boys  asked  if  they  might  do  likewise,  so  I 
had  a  class  of  four.  Their  manner  towards  me  was 
perfect,  —  not  a  trace  of  rudeness  nor  of  timidity  either, 
but  absolute  confidence  at  once  friendly  and  respectful. 
Every  day  when  I  went  to  the  cathedral  at  the  same 
hour  my  four  little  friends  greeted  me  with  such  frank 
and  visible  gladness  that  it  could  neither  have  been 
feigned  nor  mistaken.  During  our  lessons  they  sur- 
prised and  interested  me  greatly  by  the  keen  observa- 
tion they  displayed  ;  and  this  was  true  more  particularly 
of  the  bright  little  leader  and  originator  of  the  class. 
The  house  he  lived  in  was  exactly  opposite  the  rich 
west  front  of  the  cathedral ;  and  I  found  that,  young  as 
he  was  (a  mere  child),  he  had  observed  for  himself 


24  INDEPENDENCE. 

almost  all  the  details  of  its  sculpture.  The  statues, 
groups,  bas-reliefs,  and  other  ornaments  were  all,  for 
him,  so  many  separate  subjects,  and  not  a  confused 
enrichment  of  labored  stone-work  as  they  so  easily 
might  have  been.  He  had  notions,  too,  about  chro- 
nology, telling  me  the  dates  of  some  parts  of  the  cathe- 
dral and  asking  me  about  others.  His  mother  treated 
me  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  invited  me  to  sketch 
quietly  from  her  windows.  I  took  a  photographer  up 
there,  and  set  his  big  camera,  and  we  got  such  a  photo- 
graph as  had  been  deemed  impossible  before.  Now  in 
all  this  does  not  the  reader  perceive  that  I  was  enjoying 
human  intercourse  in  a  very  delicate  and  exquisite  way? 
What  could  be  more  charming  and  refreshing  to  a  soli- 
tary student  than  this  frank  and  hearty  friendship  of 
children  who  caused  no  perceptible  hindrance  to  his 
work,  whilst  they  effectually  dispelled  sad  thoughts? 

Two  other  examples  may  be  given  from  the  expe- 
rience of  a  man  who  has  often  been  alone  and  seldom 
felt  himself  in  solitude. 

I  remember  arriving,  long  ago,  in  the  evening  at  the 
head  of  a  salt-water  loch  in  Scotland,  where  in  those 
days  there  existed  an  exceedingly  small  beginning  of 
a  watering-place.  Soon  after  landing  I  walked  on  the 
beach  with  no  companion  but  the  beauty  of  nature  and 
the  "long,  long  thoughts"  of  youth.  In  a  short  time 
I  became  aware  that  a  middle-aged  Scotch  gentleman 
was  taking  exercise  in  the  same  solitary  way.  He 
spoke  to  me,  and  we  were  soon  deep  in  a  conversation 
that  began  to  be  interesting  to  both  of  us.  He  was  a 
resident  in  the  place  and  invited  me  to  his  house,  where 


INDEPENDENCE.  25 

our  talk  continued  far  into  the  night.  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  the  little  haven  the  next  day,  but  my  recollec- 
tion of  it  now  is  like  the  memorandum  of  a  conversa- 
tion. I  remember  the  wild  romantic  scenery  and  the 
moon  upon  the  water,  and  the  steamer  from  Glasgow 
at  the  pier ;  but  the  real  satisfaction  of  that  day  con- 
sisted in  hours  of  talk  with  a  man  who  had  seen  much, 
observed  much,  thought  much,  and  was  most  kindly 
and  pleasantly  communicative,  —  a  man  whom  I  had 
never  spoken  to  before,  and  have  never  seen  or  heard 
of  since  that  now  distant  but  well-remembered  evening. 
The  other  instance  is  a  conversation  in  the  cabin  of  a 
steamer.  I  was  alone,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  making 
a  voyage  by  an  unpopular  route,  and  during  a  long, 
dark  night.  It  was  a  dead  calm.  We  were  only  three 
passengers,  and  we  sat  together  by  the  bright  cabin- 
fire.  One  of  us  was  a  young  officer  in  the  British  navy, 
just  of  age ;  another  was  an  anxious-looking  man  of 
thirty.  Somehow  the  conversation  turned  to  the  sub- 
ject of  inevitable  expenses  ;  and  the  sailor  told  us  that 
he  had  a  certain  private  income,  the  amount  of  which 
he  mentioned.  "  I  have  exactly  the  same  income," 
said  the  man  of  thirty,  "  but  I  married  very  early  and 
have  a  wife  and  family  to  maintain ; "  and  then  —  as  we 
did  not  know  even  his  name,  and  he  was  not  likely 
to  see  us  again —  he  seized  the  opportunity  (under  the 
belief  that  he  was  kindly  warning  the  young  sailor)  of 
telling  the  whole  story  of  his  anxieties  in  detail.  The 
point  of  his  discourse  was  that  he  did  not  pretend  to  be 
poor,  or  to  claim  sympathy,  but  he  powerfully  described 
the  exact  nature  of  his  position.  What  had  been  his 


26  INDEPENDENCE. 

private  income  had  now  become  the  public  revenue  of  a 
household.  It  all  went  in  housekeeping,  almost  indepen- 
dently of  his  will  and  outside  of  his  control.  He  had  his 
share  in  the  food  of  the  family,  and  he  was  just  decently 
clothed,  but  there  was  an  end  to  personal  enterprises. 
The  economy  and  the  expenditure  of  a  free  and  intelli- 
gent bachelor  had  been  alike  replaced  by  a  dull,  me- 
thodical, uncontrollable  outgo;  and  the  man  himself, 
though  now  called  the  head  of  a  famity,  had  discovered 
that  a  new  impersonal  necessity  was  the  real  master, 
and  that  he  lived  like  a  child  in  his  own  house.  "This," 
he  said,  "  is  the  fate  of  a  gentleman  who  marries  on 
narrow  means,  unless  he  is  cruelly  selfish." 

Frank  and  honest  conversations  of  this  kind  often 
come  in  the  way  of  a  man  who  travels  by  himself,  and 
they  remain  with  him  afterwards  as  a  part  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  life.  This  informal  intercourse  that  comes  by 
chance  is  greatly  undervalued,  especially  by  Englishmen, 
who  are  seldom  ver}7  much  disposed  to  it  except  in  the 
humbler  classes  ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  broadly  scattered, 
inestimable  gifts  of  Nature,  like  the  refreshment  of  air 
and  water.  Many  a  healthy  and  happy  mind  has  en- 
joyed little  other  human  intercourse  than  this.  There 
are  millions  who  never  get  a  formal  invitation,  and  yet 
in  this  accidental  way  they  hear  many  a  bit  of  enter- 
taining or  instructive  talk.  The  greatest  charm  of  it 
is  its  consistency  with  the  most  absolute  independence. 
No  abandonment  of  principle  is  required,  nor  any  false 
assumption.  You  stand  simply  on  your  elementary 
right  to  consideration  as  a  decent  human  being  within 
the  great  pale  of  civilization. 


INDEPENDENCE.  27 

• 
There   is,   however,  another  sense   in   which  every 

superior  person  is  greatly  exposed  to  the  evil  of  soli- 
tude if  he  lives  outside  of  a  great  capital  city. 

Without  misanthropy,  and  without  any  unjust  or 
unkind  contempt  for  our  fellow-creatures,  we  still  must 
perceive  that  mankind  in  general  have  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  live  in  comfort  with  little  mental  exertion. 
The  desire  for  comfort  is  not  wholly  selfish,  because 
people  want  it  for  their  families  as  much  as  for  them- 
selves, but  it  is  a  low  motive  in  this  sense,  that  it  is 
scarcely  compatible  with  the  higher  kinds  of  mental  ex- 
ertion, whilst  it  is  entirely  incompatible  with  devotion 
to  great  causes.  The  object  of  common  men  is  not  to 
do  noble  work  by  their  own  personal  efforts,  but  so  to 
plot  and  contrive  that  others  may  be  industrious  for 
their  benefit,  and  not  for  their  highest  benefit,  but  in 
order  that  they  may  have  curtains  and  carpets. 

Those  for  whom  accumulated  riches  have  already 
provided  these  objects  of  desire  seldom  care  greatly 
for  anj'thing  except  amusements.  If  they  have  ambi- 
tion, it  is  for  a  higher  social  rank. 

These  three  common  pursuits,  comfort,  amusements, 
rank,  lie  so  much  outside  of  the  disciplinary  studies 
that  a  man  of  studious  habits  is  likely  to  find  himself 
alone  in  a  peculiar  sense.  As  a  human  being  he  is  not 
alone,  but  as  a  serious  thinker  and  worker  he  may  find 
himself  in  complete  solitude. 

Many  readers  will  remember  the  well-known  passage 
in  Stuart  Mill's  autobiography,  in  which  he  dealt  with 
this  subject.  It  has  often  been  quoted  against  him, 
because  he  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  "  a  person  of  high 


28  INDEPENDENCE. 

intellect  should  never  go  into  unintellectual  society, 
unless  he  can  enter  it  as  an  apostle,"  a  passage  not 
likely  to  make  its  author  beloved  by  society  of  that 
land ;  yet  Mill  was  not  a  misanthropist,  he  was  only 
anxious  to  preserve  what  there  is  of  high  feeling  and 
high  principle  from  deterioration  by  too  much  contact 
with  the  common  world.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he 
despised  the  common  world,  as  that  he  knew  the  in- 
finite preciousness,  even  to  the  common  people  them- 
selves, of  the  few  better  and  higher  minds.  He  knew 
how  difficult  it  is  for  such  minds  to  "  retain  their  higher 
principles  unimpaired,"  and  how  at  least  u  with  respect 
to  the  persons  and  affairs  of  their  own  day  they  insen- 
sibljT  adopt  the  modes  of  feeling  and  judgment  in  which 
they  can  hope  for  sympathy  from  the  company  they 
keep." 

Perhaps  I  majT  do  well  to  offer  an  illustration  of  this, 
though  from  a  department  of  culture  that  may  not  have 
been  in  Mill's  view  when  he  wrote  the  passage. 

I  myself  have  known  a  certain  painter  (not  belonging 
to  the  English  school)  who  had  a  severe  and  elevated 
ideal  of  his  art.  As  his  earnings  were  small  he  went 
to  live  in  the  country  for  economy.  He  then  began  to 
associate  intimately  with  people  to  whom  all  high  aims 
in  painting  were  unintelligible.  Gradually  he  himself 
lost  his  interest  in  them  and  his  nobler  purposes  were 
abandoned.  Finally,  art  itself  was  abandoned  and  he 
became  a  coffee-house  politician. 

So  it  is  with  all  rare  and  exceptional  pursuits  if  once 
we'  allow  ourselves  to  take,  in  all  respects,  the  color  of 
the  common  world.  It  is  impossible  to  keep  up  a 


INDEPENDENCE.  29 

foreign  language,  an  art,  a  science,  if  we  are  living 
awa}'  from  other  followers  of  our  pursuit  and  cannot 
endure  solitude. 

It  follows  from  this  that  there  are  many  situations  in 
which  men  have  to  learn  that  particular  kind  of  inde- 
pendence which  consists  in  bearing  isolation  patiently 
for  the  preservation  of  their  better  selves.  In  a  world 
of  common-sense  they  have  to  keep  a  little  place  apart 
for  a  kind  of  sense  that  is  sound  and  rational  but 
not  common. 

This  isolation  would  indeed  be  difficult  to  bear  if  it 
were  not  mitigated  by  certain  palliatives  that  enable 
a  superior  mind  to  be  healthy  and  active  in  its  loneli- 
ness. The  first  of  these  is  reading,  which  is  seldom 
valued  at  its  almost  inestimable  worth.  BJT  the  variety 
of  its  records  and  inventions,  literature  continually  af- 
fords the  refreshment  of  change,  not  to  speak  of  that 
variety  which  may  be  had  so  easily  by  a  change  of  lan- 
guage when  the  reader  knows  several  different  tongues, 
and  the  other  marvellous  variety  due  to  difference  in  the 
date  of  books.  In  fact,  literature  affords  a  far  wider 
variety  than  conversation  itself,  for  we  can  talk  only 
with  the  living,  but  literature  enables  us  to  descend, 
like  Ulysses,  into  the  shadowy  kingdom  of  the  dead. 
There  is  but  one  defect  in  literature,  — that  the  talk  is 
all  on  one  side,  so  that  we  are  listeners,  as  at  a  sermon 
or  a  lecture,  and  not  sharers  in  some  antique  sym- 
posium, our  own  brows  crowned  with  flowers,  and  our 
own  tongues  loosened  with  wine.  The  exercise  of  the 
tongue  is  wanting,  and  to  some  it  is  an  imperious 
need,  so  that  they  will  talk  to  the  most  uncongenial 


30  INDEPENDENCE. 

human  beings,  or  even  to  parrots  and  dogs.  If  we 
value  books  as  the  great  palliative  of  solitude  and 
help  to  mental  independence,  let  us  not  undervalue  those 
intelligent  periodicals  that  keep  our  minds  modern  and 
prevent  us  from  living  altogether  in  some  other  century 
than  our  own.  Periodicals  are  a  kind  of  correspond- 
ence more  easily  read  than  manuscript  and  involving 
no  obligation  to  answer.  There  is  also  the  .great  pal- 
liative of  occasional  direct  correspondence  with  those 
who  understand  our  pursuits ;  and  here  we  have  the 
advantage  of  using  our  own  tongues,  not  physically, 
but  at  least  in  an  imaginative  way. 

A  powerful  support  to  some  minds  is  the  constantly 
changing  beauty  of  the  natural  world,  which  becomes 
like  a  great  and  ever-present  companion.  I  am  anxious 
to  avoid  any  exaggeration  of  this  benefit,  because  I 
know  that  to  many  it  counts  for  nothing  ;  and  an  author 
ought  not  to  think  only  of  those  who  have  his  own 
mental  constitution ;  but  although  natural  beauty  is  of 
little  use  to  one  solitary  mind,  it  may  be  like  a  living 
friend  to  another.  As  a  paragraph  of  real  experience 
is  worth  pages  of  speculation,  I  may  say  that  I  have 
always  found  it  possible  to  live  happily  in  solitude,  pro- 
vided that  the  place  was  surrounded  by  varied,  beauti- 
ful, and  changeful  scenery,  but  that  in  ugly  or  even 
monotonous  places  I  have  felt  societ}"  to  be  as  necessary 
as  it  was  welcome.  Byron's  expression,  — 
"  I  made  me  friends  of  mountains," 

and  Wordsworth's, 

"Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her," 


INDEPENDENCE.  81 

are  not  more  than  plain  statements  of  the  companion- 
ship that  some  minds  find  in  the  beauty  of  landscape. 
They  are  often  accused  of  affectation,  but  in  truth  I 
believe  that  we  who  have  that  passion,  instead  of  ex- 
pressing more  than  we  feel,  have  generall}7  rather  a 
tendency  to  be  reserved  upon  the  subject,  as  we  seldom 
expect  sympatlw.  Many  of  us  would  rather  live  in 
solitude  and  on  small  means  at  Como  than  on  a  great 
income  in  Manchester.  This  ma}r  be  a  foolish  pref- 
erence ;  but  let  the  reader  remember  the  profound 
utterance  of  Blake,  that  if  the  fool  would  but  persevere 
in  his  folly  he  would  become  wise. 

However  powerful  may  be  the  aid  of  books  and 
natural  scenery  in  enabling  us  to  bear  solitude,  the 
best  help  of  all  must  be  found  in  our  occupations  them- 
selves. Steady  workers  do  not  need  much  company. 
To  be  occupied  with  a  task  that  is  difficult  and  ardu- 
ous, but  that  we  know  to  be  within  our  powers,  and  to 
awake  early  every  morning  with  the  delightful  feeling 
that  the  whole  day  can  be  given  to  it  without  fear  of 
interruption,  is  the  perfection  of  happiness  for  one 
who  has  the  gift  of  throwing  himself  heartily  into  his 
work.  When  night  comes  he  will  be  a  little  weary, 
and  more  disposed  for  tranquil  leep  than  to  "  danser 
jusqu'  au  jour  chez  I'ambassadeur  ue  France." 

This  is  the  best  independence,  —  to  have  something 
to  do  and  something  that  can  be  done,  and  done  most 
perfectly,  in  solitude.  Then  the  lonely  hours  flow  on 
like  smoothly  gliding  water,  bearing  one  insensibly  to 
the  evening.  The  workman  says,  "  Is  my  sight  fail- 
ing?" and  lo  the  sun  has  set! 


32  INDEPENDENCE. 

There  is  but  one  objection  to  this  absorption  in 
worthy  toil.  It  is  that  as  the  day  passes  so  passes 
life  itself,  that  succession  of  many  days.  The  work- 
man thinks  of  nothing  but  his  work,  and  finds  the  time 
all  too  short.  At  length  he  suddenly  perceives  that  he 
is  old,  and  wonders  if  life  might  not  have  been  made 
to  seem  a  little  longer,  and  if,  after  all,  it  has  been 
quite  the  best  policy  always  to  avoid  ennui. 


SIONATE  LOVE.  38 


ESSAY  III. 

OF   PASSIONATE    LOVE. 

r  I^HE  wonder  of  love  is  that,  for  the  time  being,  it 
-*-  makes  us  ardently  desire  the  presence  of  one  per- 
son and  feel  indifferent  to  all  others  of  her  sex.  It  is 
commonly  spoken  of  as  a  delusion,  but  I  do  not  see  any 
delusion  here,  for  if  the  presence  of  the  beloved  person 
satisfies  his  craving,  the  lover  gets  what  he  desires  and 
is  not  more  the  victim  of  a  deception  than  one  who 
succeeds  in  satisfying  any  other  want. 

Again,  it  is  often  said  that  men  are  blinded  by  love, 
but  the  fact  that  one  sees  certain  qualities  in  a  beloved 
person  need  not  imply  blindness.  If  you  are  in  love 
with  a  little  woman  it  is  not  a  reason  for  supposing  her 
to  be  tall.  I  will  even  venture  to  affirm  that  you  may 
love  a  woman  passionately  and  still  be  quite  clearly 
aware  that  her  beauty  is  far  inferior  to  that  of  another 
whose  coming  thrills  you  with  no  emotion,  whose  de- 
parture leaves  with  you  no  regret. 

The  true  nature  of  a  profound  passion  is  not  to  attrib- 
ute every  ph}*sical  and  mental  qualit}7  to  its  object, 
but  rather  to  think,  "Such  as  she  is,  with  the  endow- 
ments that  are  really  her  own,  I  love  her  above  all 
women,  though  I  know  that  she  is  not  so  beautiful 
as  some  are,  nor  so  learned  as  some  others."  The 
only  real  deception  to  which  a  lover  is  exposed  is  that 

3 


84  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE. 

he  may  overestimate  the  strength  of  his  own  passion. 
If  he  has  not  made  this  mistake  he  is  not  likely  to 
make  any  other,  since,  whatever  the  indifferent  may  see, 
or  fail  to  see,  in  the  woman  of  his  choice,  he  surely 
finds  in  her  the  adequate  reason  for  her  attraction. 

Love  is  commonly  treated  as  if  it  belonged  only  to 
the  flowering  of  the  spring-time  of  life,  but  strong  and 
healthy  natures  remain  capable  of  feeling  the  passion 
in  great  force  long  after  the}7  are  supposed  to  have  left 
it  far  behind  them.  It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  signs  of 
a  healthy  nature  to  retain  for  many  years  the  freshness 
of  the  heart  which  makes  one  liable  to  fall  in  love,  as 
a  healthy  palate  retains  the  natural  early  taste  for  deli- 
cious fruits. 

This  freshness  of  the  heart  is  lost  far  more  surely  by 
debauchery  than  by  37ears ;  and  for  this  reason  world \y 
parents  ^are  not  altogether  dissatisfied  that  their  sons 
should  "  sow  their  wild  oats"  in  youth,  as  they  believe 
that  this  kind  of  sowing  is  a  preservative  against  the 
dangers  of  pure  love  and  an  imprudent  or  unequal  mar- 
riage. The  calculation  is  well  founded.  After  a  few 
years  of  indiscriminate  debauchery  a  young  man  is 
likely  to  be  deadened  to  the  sweet  influences  of  love 
and  therefore  able  to  conduct  himself  with  steady  world- 
liness,  either  remaining  in  celibacy  or  marrying  for 
position,  exactly  as  his  interests  may  dictate. 

The  case  of  Shelley  is  an  apt  illustration  of  this  dan- 
ger. He  had  at  the  same  time  a  horror  of  debauchery 
and  an  irresistible  natural  tendency  to  the  passion  of 
love. 

From  the  worldly  point  of  view  both  his  connections 


OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE.  85 

were  degrading  for  a  young  gentleman  of  rank.  Had 
he  followed  the  very  common  course  of  a  real  degrada- 
tion and  married  a  lady  of  rank  after  ten  years  of  indis- 
criminate immorality,  is  it  an  unjust  or  an  unlikely 
supposition  that  he  would  have  given  less  dissatisfac 
tion  to  his  friends  ? 

As  to  the  permanence  of  love,  or  its  transitoriness, 
the  plain  and  candid  answer  is  that  there  is  no  real 
assurance  either  way.  To  predict  that  it  will  certainly 
die  after  fruition  is  to  shut  one's  eyes  against  the  evi- 
dent fact  that  men  often  remain  in  love  with  mistresses 
or  wives.  On  the  other  hand,  to  assume  that  love  is 
fixed  and  made  permanent  in  a  magical  way  by  mar- 
riage is  to  assume  what  would  be  desirable  rather  than 
what  really  is.  There  are  no  magical  incantations  by 
which  Love  may  be  retained,  yet  sometimes  he  will 
rest  and  dwell  with  astonishing  tenacity  when  there 
seem  to  be  the  strongest  reasons  for  his  departure.  If 
there  were  any  ceremony,  if  any  sacrifice  could  be  made 
at  an  altar,  by  which  the  capricious  little  deity  might 
be  conciliated  and  won,  the  wisest  might  hasten  to  per- 
form that  ceremony  and  offer  that  acceptable  sacrifice ; 
but  he  cares  not  for  any  of  our  rites.  Sometimes  he 
sta3'S,  in  spite  of  cruelt}7,  misery,  and  wrong  ;  sometimes 
he  takes  flight  from  the  hearth  where  a  woman  sits  and 
grieves  alone,  with  all  the  attractions  of  health,  beauty, 
gentleness,  and  refinement. 

Boys  and  girls  imagine  that  love  in  a  poor  cottage 
or  a  bare  garret  would  be  more  blissful  than  indiffer- 
ence in  a  palace,  and  the  notion  is  thought  foolish  and 
romantic  by  the  wise  people  of  the  world ;  but  the  l»ors 


36  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE. 

and  girls  are  right  in  their  estimate  of  Love's  great 
power  of  cheering  and  brightening  existence  even  in 
the  ver}7  humblest  situations.  The  possible  error  against 
which  they  ought  to  be  clearty  warned  is  that  of  sup- 
posing that  Love  would  always  remain  contentedly  in 
the  cottage  or  the  garret.  Not  that  he  is  any  more 
certain  to  remain  in  a  mansion  in  Belgrave  Square,  not 
that  a  garret  with  him  is  not  better  than  the  vast  Vati- 
can without  him  ;  but  when  he  has  taken  his  flight,  and 
is  simply  absent,  one  would  rather  be  left  in  comforta- 
ble than  in  beggarly  desolation. 

The  poets  speak  habitually  of  love  as  if  it  wero  a 
passion  that  could  be  safely  indulged,  whereas  the 
whole  experience  of  modern  existence  goes  to  show 
that  it  is  of  all  passions  the  most  perilous  to  happiness 
except  in  those  rare  cases  where  it  can  be  followed  by 
marriage  ;  and  even  then  the  peril  is  not  ended,  for  mar- 
riage gives  no  certainty  of  the  duration  of  love,  but  con- 
stitutes of  itself  a  new  danger,  as  the  natures  most 
disposed  to  passion  are  at  the  same  time  the  most  im- 
patient of  restraint. 

There  is  this  peculiarity  about  love  in  a  well-regu- 
lated social  state.  It  is  the  only  passion  that  is  quite 
strictly  limited  in  its  indulgence.  Of  the  intellectual 
passions  a  man  may  indulge  several  different  ones 
either  successively  or  together ;  in  the  ordinary  physi- 
cal enjo}Tments,  such  as  the  love  of  active  sports  or  the 
pleasures  of  the  table,  he  may  carry  his  indulgence  very 
far  and  vary  it  without  blame ;  but  the  master  passion 
of  all  has  to  be  continually  quelled,  the  satisfactions 
that  it  asks  for  have  to  be  continually  refused  to  it, 


OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE.    „  37 

unless  some  opportunity  occurs  when  they  may  be 
granted  without  disturbing  an}'  one  of  many  different 
threads  in  the  web  of  social  existence ;  and  these 
threads,  to  a  lover's  eye,  seem  entirely  unconnected 
with  his  hope. 

In  stating  the  fact  of  these  restraints  I  do  not  dispute 
their  necessity.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  evident  lluit 
infinite  practical  evil  would  result  from  liberty.  Those 
who  have  broken  through  the  social  restraints  and 
allowed  the  passion  of  love  to  set  up  its  storm}*  and 
variable  tyranny  in  their  hearts  have  led  unsettled 
and  unhappy  lives.  Even  of  love  itself  they  have  not 
enjo}*ed  the  best  except  in  those  rare  cases  in  which 
the  lovers  have  taken  bonds  upon  themselves  not  less 
durable  than  those  of  marriage  ;  and  even  these  unions, 
which  give  no  more  liberty  than  marriage  itself  gives, 
are  accompanied  by  the  unsettled  feeling  that  belongs 
to  all  irregular  situations. 

It  is  easy  to  distinguish  in  the  conventional  manner 
between  the  lower  and  the  higher  kinds  of  love,  but  it 
is  not  so  easy  to  establish  the  real  distinction.  The 
conventional  difference  is  simply  between  the  passion 
in  marriage  and  out  of  it ;  the  real  distinction  would  l>e 
between  different  feelings  ;  but  as  these  feelings  are  not 
ascertainable  by  one  person  in  the  mind  or  nerves  of 
another,  and  as  in  most  cases  they  are  probably  much 
blended,  the  distinction  can  seldom  be  accurately  made 
in  the  cases  of  real  persons,  though  it  is  marked  trench- 
antly enough  in  works  of  pure  imagination. 

The  passion  exists  in  an  infinite  variety,  and  it  is  so 
strongly  influenced  by  elements  of  character  which  have 


38  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE. 

apparently  nothing  to  do  with  it,  that  its  effects  on  con- 
duct are  to  a  great  extent  controlled  by  them.  For 
example,  suppose  the  case  of  a  man  with  strong  pas- 
sions combined  with  a  selfish  nature,  and  that  of  another 
with  passions  equally  strong,  but  a  rooted  aversion  to 
all  personal  satisfactions  that  might  end  in  misery  for 
others.  The  first  would  ruin  a  girl  with  little  hesita- 
tion ;  the  second  would  rather  suffer  the  entire  privation 
of  her  society  by  quitting  the  neighborhood  where  she 
lived. 

The  interference  of  qualities  that  lie  outside  of  pas- 
sion is  shown  very  curiously  and  remarkably  in  intellec- 
tual persons  in  this  way.  They  may  have  a  strong 
temporary  passion  for  somebody  without  intellect  or 
culture,  but  they  are  not  likely  to  be  held  permanently 
by  such  a  person  ;  and  even  when  under  the  influence  of 
the  temporary  desire  they  may  be  clearty  aware  of  the 
danger  there  would  be  in  converting  it  into  a  permanent 
relation,  and  so  they  may  take  counsel  with  themselves 
and  subdue  the  passion  or  fty  from  the  temptation, 
knowing  that  it  would  be  sweet  to  yield,  but  that  a 
transient  delight  would  be  paid  for  by  years  of  weari- 
ness in  the  future. 

Those  men  of  superior  abilities  who  have  bound 
themselves  for  life  to  some  woman  who  could  not  pos- 
sibly understand  them,  have  generally  either  broken 
their  bonds  afterwards  or  else  avoided  as  much  as 
possible  the  tiresomeness  of  a  tete-a-tete,  and  found 
in  general  society  the  means  of  occasionally  enduring 
the  dulness  of  their  home.  For  short  and  transient 
relations  the  principal  charm  in  a  woman  is  either 


OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE.  39 

beauty  or  a  certain  sweetness,  but  for  any  permanent 
relation  the  first  necessity  of  all  is  that  she  be  com- 
panionable. 

Passionate  love  is  the  principal  subject  of  poets  and 
novelists,  who  usually  avoid  its  greatest  difficulties  by 
well-known  means  of  escape.  Either  the  passion  fin- 
ishes tragically  by  the  death  of  one  of  the  parties,  or 
else  it  comes  to  a  natural  culmination  in  their  union, 
whether  according  to  social  order  or  through  a  breach 
of  it.  In  real  life  the  story  is  not  always  rounded  off 
so  conveniently.  It  may  happen,  it  probably  often  \ 
does  happen,  that  a  passion  establishes  itself  where  it 
has  no  possible  chance  of  satisfaction,  and  where,  instead 
of  being  cut  short  by  death,  it  persists  through  a  con- 
siderable part  of  life  and  embitters  it.  These  cases  are 
the  more  unfortunate  that  hopeless  desire  gives  an 
imaginary  glory  to  its  own  object,  and  that,  from  the 
circumstances  of  the  case,  this  halo  is  not  dissipated. 

It  is  common  amongst  hard  and  narrow  people,  who 
judge  the  feelings  of  others  by  their  own  want  of  them, 
to  treat  all  the  painful  side  of  passion  with  contempt- 
uous levity.  They  say  that  people  never  die  for  love, 
and  that  such  fancies  may  easily  be  chased  away  by 
the  exercise  of  a  little  resolution.  The  profounder 
•students  of  human  nature  take  the  subject  more  seri- 
ously. Each  of  the  great  poets  (including,  of  course, 
the  author  of  the  "  Bride  of  Lammermoor,"  in  which 
the  poetical  elements  are  so  abundant)  has  treated  the 
aching  pain  of  love  and  the  tragedy  to  which  it  may 
lead,  as  in  the  deaths  of  Haidee,  of  Lucy  Ashton,  of 
Juliet,  of  Margaret.  In  real  life  the  powers  of  evil  do 


40  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE. 

not  perceive  any  necessity  for  an  artistic  conclusion  of 
their  work.  A  wrinkled  old  maid  may  still  preserve 
in  the  depths  of  her  own  heart,  quite  unsuspected  by 
the  }Toung  and  lively  people  about  her,  the  unextin- 
guished  embers  of  a  passion  that  first  made  her  wretched 
fifty  3Tears  before ;  and  in  the  long,  solitary  hours  of  a 
dull  old  age  she  may  live  over  and  over  again  in  mem- 
ory the  brief  delirium  of  that  wild  and  foolish  hope 
which  was  followed  by  years  of  self- repression. 

Of  all  the  painful  situations  occasioned  by  passionate 
love,  I  know  of  none  more  lamentable  than  that  of  an 
innocent  and  honorable  woman  who  has  been  married 
to  an  unsuitable  husband  and  who  afterwards  makes 
the  discovery  that  she  involuntarily  loves  another.  In 
well-regulated,  moral  societies  such  passions  are  re- 
pressed, but  they  cannot  be  repressed  without  suffering 
which  has  to  be  endured  in  silence.  The  victim  is 
punished  for  no  fault  when  none  is  committed  ;  but  she 
may  suffer  from  the  forces  of  nature  like  one  who  hun- 
gers and  thirsts  and  sees  a  fair  banquet  provided,  yet 
is  forbidden  to  eat  or  drink.  It  is  difficult  to  suppress 
the  heart's  regret,  "Ah,  if  we  had  known  each  other 
earlier,  in  the  da}Ts  when  I  was  free,  and  it  was  not 
wrong  to  love  !  "  Then  there  is  the  haunting  fear  that 
the  woful  secret  may  one  day  reveal  itself  to  others. 
Might  it  not  be  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  betrayed 
by  a  momentary  absence  of  self-control?  This  has 
sometimes  happened,  and  then  there  is  no  safety  but  in 
separation,  immediate  and  decided.  Suppose  a  case 
like  the  following,  which  is  said  to  have  really  occurred. 
A  perfectly  honorable  man  goes  to  visit  an  intimate 


OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE.  41 

friend,  walks  quietly  in  the  garden  one  afternoon  with 
his  friend's  wife,  and  suddenly  discovers  that  he  is  the 
object  of  a  passion  which,  until  that  moment,  she  has 
steadily  controlled.  One  outburst  of  shameful  tears, 
one  pitiful  confession  of  a  life's  unhappiness,  and  they 
part  forever!  This  is  what  happens  when  the  friend 
respects  his  friend  and  the  wife  her  husband.  What 
happens  when  both  are  capable  of  treachery  is  known 
to  the  readers  of  English  newspaper  reports  and  French 
fictions. 

It  seems  as  if,  with  regard  to  this  passion,  civilized 
man  were  placed  in  a  false  position  between  Nature 
on  the  one  hand  and  civilization  on  the  other.  Nature 
makes  us  capable  of  feeling  it  in  very  great  strength 
and  intensity,  at  an  age  when  marriage  is  not  to  be 
thought  of,  and  when  there  is  not  much  self- control. 
The  tendency  of  high  civilization  is  to  retard  the 
time  of  marriage  for  men,  but  there  is  not  any  corre- 
sponding postponement  in  the  awakening  of  the  pas- 
sions. The  least  civilized  classes  marry  early,  the  more 
civilized  later  and  later,  and  not  often  from  passionate 
love,  but  from  a  cool  and  prudent  calculation  about 
general  chances  of  happiness,  a  calculation  embracing 
very  various  elements,  and  in  itself  as  remote  from 
passion  as  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon  from  the  Song  of 
Songs.  It  consequently  happens  that  the  great  majority 
of  young  gentlemen  discover  early  in  life  that  passionate 
love  is  a  danger  to  be  avoided,  and  so  indeed  it  is ;  but 
it  seems  a  peculiar  misfortune  for  civilized  man  that  so 
natural  an  excitement,  which  is  capable  of  giving  such 
a  glow  to  all  his  faculties  as  nothing  else  can  give,  an 


42  OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE, 

excitement  which  exalts  the  imagination  to  poetry  and 
increases  courage  till  it  becomes  heroic  devotion,  whilst 
it  gives  a  glamour  of  romance  to  the  poorest  and  most 
prosaic  existence,  —  it  seems,  I  say,  a  misfortune  that 
a  passion  with  such  unequalled  powers  as  these  should 
have  to  be  eliminated  from  wise  and  prudent  life.  The 
explanation  of  its  early  and  inconvenient  appearance 
may  be  that  before  the  human  race  had  attained  a  posi- 
tion of  any  tranquillity  or  comfort,  the  average  life  was 
very  short,  and  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the 
flame  of  existence  should  be  passed  on  to  another  gen- 
eration without  dela}T.  We  inherit  the  rapid  develop- 
ment which  saved  the  race  in  its  perilous  past,  but  we 
are  embarrassed  by  it,  and  instead  of  elevating  us  to  a 
more  exalted  life  it  often  avenges  itself  for  the  refusal 
of  natural  activity  by  its  own  corruption,  the  corrup- 
tion of  the  best  into  the  worst,  of  the  fire  from  heaven 
into  the  filth  of  immorality.  The  more  this  great  pas- 
sion is  repressed  and  expelled,  the  more  frequent  does 
immorality  become. 

Another  very  remarkable  result  of  the  exclusion  of 
passionate  love  from  ordinary  existence  is  that  the  idea 
of  it  takes  possession  of  the  imagination.  The  most 
melodious  poetry,  the  most  absorbing  fiction,  are  alike 
celebrations  of  its  mysteries.  Even  the  wordless  voice 
of  music  wails  or  languishes  for  love,  and  the  audience 
that  seems  only  to  hear  flutes  and  violins  is  in  reality 
listening  to  that  endless  song  of  love  which  thrills 
through  the  passionate  universe.  Well  may  the  rebels 
against  Nature  revolt  against  the  influence  of  Art !  It 
is  everywhere  permeated  by  passion.  The  cold  marble 


OF  PASSIONATE  LOVE.  43 

warms  with  it,  the  opaque  pigments  palpitate  with  it, 
the  dull  actor  has  the  tones  of  genius  when  he  wins 
access  to  its  perennial  inspiration.  Even  those  forms 
of  art  which  seem  remote  from  it  do  yet  confess  its 
presence.  You  see  a  picture  of  solitude,  and  think  that 
passion  cannot  enter  there,  but  everything  suggests  it. 
The  tree  bends  down  to  the  calm  water,  the  gentle 
breeze  caresses  every  leaf,  the  white-pated  old  moun- 
tain is  visited  by  the  short-lived  summer  clouds.  If,  in 
the  opening  glade,  the  artist  has  sketched  a  pair  of 
lovers,  you  think  they  naturally  complete  the  scene  ;  if 
he  has  omitted  them,  it  is  still  a  place  for  lovers,  or  has 
been,  or  will  be  on  some  sweet  eve  like  this.  What 
have  stars  and  winds  and  odors  to  do  with  love  ?  The 
poets  know  all  about  it,  and  so  let  Shelley  tell  us :  — 

"  I  arise  from  dreams  of  Thee 
In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night, 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright: 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 
And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Has  led  me  —  who  knows  how  ?  — 
To  thy  chamber-window,  Sweet  1 
The  wandering  airs  they  faint 
On  the  dark,  the  silent  stream ; 
The  champak  odors  fail 
Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream ; 
The  nightingale's  complaint 
It  dies  upon  her  heart, 
As  I  must  die  on  thine 
O  beloved  as  tkou  art  1" 


44          COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 


ESSAY  IV. 

COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

TF  the  reader  has  ever  had  for  a  travelling-companion 
-•-  some  person  totally  unsuited  to  his  nature  and 
quite  unable  to  enter  into  the  ideas  that  chiefly  interest 
him,  unable,  even,  to  see  the  things  that  he  sees  and 
always  disposed  to  treat  negligently  or  contemptuously 
the  thoughts  and  preferences  that  are  most  his  own,  he 
ma}T  have  some  faint  conception  of  what  it  must  be  to 
find  one's  self  tied  to  an  unsuitable  companion  for  the 
tedious  journey  of  this  mortal  life  ;  and  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  has  ever  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  wandering 
through  a  country  that  interested  him  along  with  a  friend 
who  could  understand  his  interest,  and  share  it,  and 
whose  society  enhanced  the  charm  of  every  prospect 
and  banished  dulness  from  the  dreariest  inns,  he  may  in 
some  poor  and  imperfect  degree  realize  the  happiness 
of  those  who  have  chosen  the  life-companion  wisely. 

When,  after  an  experiment  of  months  or  years,  the 
truth  becomes  plainly  evident  that  a  great  mistake  has 
been  commitled,  that  there  is  really  no  companionship, 
that  there  never  will  be,  never  can  be,  any  mental  com- 
munion between  the  two,  but  that  life  in  common  is  to  be 
like  a  stiff  morning  call  when  the  giver  and  the  receiver 
of  the  visit  are  beating  their  brains  to  find  something  to 
say,  and  ivcad  the  gaps  of  silence,  then  in  the  blank  and 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.  45 

dreary  outlook  comes  the  idea  of  separation,  and  some- 
times, in  the  loneliness  that  follows,  a  wild  rebellion 
against  social  order,  and  a  reckless  attempt  to  find  in 
some  more  suitable  union  a  compensation  for  the  first 
sad  failure. 

The  world  looks  with  more  indulgence  on  these 
attempts  when  it  sees  reason  to  believe  that  the  desire 
was  for  intellectual  companionship  than  when  incon- 
stant passions  are  presumed  to  have  been  the  motives ; 
and  it  has  so  happened  that  a  few  persons  of  great 
eminence  have  set  an  example  in  this  respect  which 
has  had  the  unfortunate  effect  of  weakening  in  a  per- 
ceptible degree  the  ancient  social  order.  It  is  not 
possible,  of  course,  that  there  can  be  many  cases  like 
that  of  George  Eliot  and  Lewes,  for  the  simple  rea- 
son that  persons  of  their  eminence  are  so  rare ;  but  if 
there  were  only  a  few  more  cases  of  that  kind  it  is 
evident  that  the  laws  of  society  would  either  be  con- 
fessedly powerless,  or  else  it  would  be  necessary  to 
modify  them  and  bring  them  into  harmony  with  new 
conditions.  The  importance  of  the  case  alluded  to 
lies  iu  the  fact  that  the  lady,  though  she  was  excluded 
(or  willingly  excluded  herself)  from  general  society, 
was  still  respected  and  visited  not  only  by  men  but  by 
ladies  of  blameless  life.  Nor  was  she  generally  re- 
garded as  an  immoral  person  even  by  the  outer  world. 
The  feeling  about  her  was  one  of  regret  that  the  faith- 
ful companionship  she  gave  to  Lewes  could  not  be 
legally  called  a  marriage,  as  it  was  apparently  a  model 
of  what  the  legal  relation  ought  to  be.  The  object  of 
his  existence  was  to  give  her  ever}-  kind  of  help  and  to 


46  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

spare  her  every  shadow  of  annoyance.  He  read  to  her, 
wrote  letters  for  her,  advised  her  on  ever}Tthing,  and 
whilst  full  of  admiration  for  her  talents  was  able  to  do 
something  for  their  most  effectual  emploj'ment.  She, 
on  her  part,  rewarded  him  with  that  which  he  prized 
above  riches,  the  frank  and  affectionate  companionship 
of  an  intellect  that  it  is  needless  to  describe  and  of  a 
heart  full  of  the  most  lively  sympathy  and  ready  for  the 
most  romantic  sacrifices. 

In  the  preceding  generation  we  have  the  well-known 
instances  of  Shelley,  Byron,  and  Goethe,  all  of  whom 
sought  companionship  outside  of  social  rule,  and  en- 
joyed a  sort  of  happiness  probably  not  unembittered 
by  the  false  position  in  which  it  placed  them.  The 
sad  story  of  Shelley's  first  marriage,  that  with  Harriett 
Westbrook,  is  one  of  the  best  instances  of  a  deplorable 
but  most  natural  mistake.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
a  charming  person  in  many  ways.  "  Harriett,"  says 
Mr.  Rossetti,  "  was  not  only  delightful  to  look  at  but 
altogether  most  agreeable.  She  dressed  with  exquisite 
neatness  and  propriety ;  her  voice  was  pleasant  and  her 
speech  cordial ;  her  spirits  were  cheerful  and  her  man- 
ners good.  She  was  well  educated,  a  constant  and 
agreeable  reader ;  adequately  accomplished  in  music." 
But  in  spite  of  these  qualities  and  talents,  and  even  of 
Harriett's  willingness  to  learn,  Shelley  did  not  find  her 
to  be  companionable  for  him  ;  and  he  unfortunate!}7  did 
discover  that  another  young  lady,  Mary  Godwin,  was 
companionable  in  the  supreme  degree.  That  this  latter 
idea  was  not  illusory  is  proved  by  his  happy  life  after- 
wards with  Mary  so  far  as  a  life  could  be  happy  that  was 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.          47 

poisoned  by  a  tragic  recollection.1  Before  that  miser- 
able ending,  before  the  waters  of  the  Serpentine  had 
closed  over  the  wretched  existence  of  Harriett,  Shelley 
said,  "  Every  one  who  knows  me  must  know  that  the 
partner  of  my  life  should  be  one  who  can  feel  poetry 
and  understand  philosophy.  Harriett  is  a  noble  animal, 
but  she  can  do  neither."  Here  we  have  a  plain  state- 
ment of  that  great  need  for  companionship  which  was 
a  part  of  Shelley's  nature.  It  is  often  connected  with 
its  apparent  opposite,  the  love  of  solitude.  Shelley  was 
a  lover  of  solitude,  which  means  that  he  liked  full  and 
adequate  human  intercourse  so  much  that  the  insuffi- 
cient imitation  of  it  was  intolerable  to  him.  Even  that 
sweetest  solitude  of  all,  when  he  wrote  the  "  Revolt  of 
Islam "  in  summer  shades,  to  the  sound  of  rippling 
waters,  was  willingly  exchanged  for  the  society  of  the 
one  dearest  and  best  companion :  — 

"  So  now  my  summer-task  is  ended,  Mary, 

And  I  return  to  thee,  mine  own  heart's  home; 
As  to  his  Queen  some  victor  Knight  of  Faery, 

Earning  bright  spoils  for  her  enchanted  dome. 
Nor  thou  disdain  that,  ere  my  fame  become 
A  star  among  the  stars  of  mortal  night 

(If  it  indeed  may  cleave  its  native  gloom), 
Its  doubtful  promise  thus  I  would  unite 
With  thy  beloved  name,  thou  child  of  love  and  light 

1  The  exact  degree  of  blame  due  to  Shelley  is  very  difficult  to 
determine.  He  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  suicide,  though  the 
separation  was  the  first  in  a  train  of  circumstances  that  led  to  it. 
It  seems  clear  that  Harriett  did  not  desire  the  separation,  and 
clear  also  that  she  did  nothing  to  assert  her  rights.  Shelley  ought 
not  to  have  left  her,  but  he  had  not  the  patience  to  accept  as  per 
manent  the  consequences  of  a  mistaken  marriage. 


48  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

The  toil  which  stole  from  thee  so  many  an  hour 

Is  ended,  and  the  fruit  is  at  thy  feet. 
No  longer  where  the  woods  to  frame  a  bower 

With  interlaced  branches  mix  and  meet, 

Or  where,  with  sound  like  many  voices  sweet, 
Waterfalls  leap  among  wild  islands  green 

Which  framed  for  my  lone  boat  a  lone  retreat 
Of  moss-grown  trees  and  weeds,  shall  I  be  seen  : 
But  beside  thee,  where  still  my  heart  has  ever  been." 

It  is  not  surprising  that  the  companionship  of  con- 
jugal life  should  be  like  other  friendships  in  this,  that 
a  first  experiment  may  be  a  failure  and  a  later  experi- 
ment a  success.  We  are  all  so  fallible  that  in  matters 
of  which  we  have  no  experience  we  generally  .commit 
great  blunders.  Marriage  unites  all  the  conditions  that 
make  a  blunder  probable.  Two  young  people,  with  very 
little  conception  of  what  an  unsurmountable  barrier  a 
difference  of  idios3"ncras37  may  be,  are  pleased  with  each 
other's  youth,  health,  natural  ga3'et}r,  and  good  looks, 
and  fane}'  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  live  together. 
They  marry,  and  in  many  cases  discover  that  somehow, 
in  spite  of  the  most  meritorious  efforts,  they  are  not 
companions.  There  is  no  fault  on  either  side ;  they 
try  their  best,  but  the  invisible  demon,  incompatibility, 
is  too  strong  for  them. 

From  all  that  we  know  of  the  characters  of  Lord  and 
Lady  Byron  it  seems  evident  that  they  never  were 
likely  to  enjoy  life  together.  He  committed^ the  mis- 
take of  marrying  a  lady  on  the  strength  of  her  excel- 
lent reputation.  "  She  has  talents  and  excellent 
qualities,"  he  said  before  marriage ;  as  if  all  the  arts 
and  sciences  and  all  the  virtues  put  together  could 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.          49 

avail  without  the  one  quality  that  is  never  admired, 
never  understood  by  others,  —  that  of  simple  suitable- 
ness. She  was  "  a  kind  of  pattern  in  the  North,"  and 
he  u  heard  of  nothing  but  her  merits  and  her  wonders." 
He  did  not  see  that  all  these  excellencies  were  dangers, 
that  the  consciousness  of  them  and  the  reputation  for 
them  would  set  the  lady  up  on  a  judgment  seat  of  her 
own,  from  which  she  would  be  continually  observing  the 
errors,  serious  or  trivial,  of  that  faulty  specimen  of  the 
male  sex  that  it  was  her  lofty  mission  to  correct  or  to 
condemn.  All  this  he  found  out  in  due  time  and  ex- 
pressed in  the  bitter  lines,  — 

"  Oh  !  she  was  perfect  past  all  parallel 

Of  any  modern  female  saint's  comparison 

Perfect  she  was." 

The  story  of  his  subsequent  life  is  too  well  known 
to  need  repetition  here.  All  that  concerns  our  pres- 
ent subject  is  that  ultimately,  in  the  Countess  Guiccioli, 
he  found  the  woman  who  had,  for  him,  that  one  quality, 
suitableness,  which  outweighs  all  the  perfections.  She 
did  not  read  English,  but,  though  ignorant  alike  of  the 
splendor  and  the  tenderness  of  his  verse,  she  knew  the 
nature  of  the  man ;  and  he  enjoyed  in  her  society, 
probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  most  exquisite 
pleasure  the  masculine  mind  can  ever  know,  that  of 
being  looked  upon  by  a  feminine  intelligence  with  clear 
sight  and  devoted  affection  at  the  same  time.  The  rela- 
tion that  existed  between  Byron  and  the  Countess  Guic- 
cioli  is  one  outside  of  our  morality,  a  revenge  of  Nature 
against  a  marriage  system  that  could  take  a  girl  not 

4 


50  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

yet  sixteen  and  make  her  the  third  wife  of  a  man  more 
than  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  In  Italy  this 
revenge  of  Nature  against  a  bad  social  S3Tstem  is  ac- 
cepted, within  limits,  and  is  an  all  but  inevitable  conse- 
quence of  marriages  like  that  of  Count  Guiccioli,  which, 
however  they  may  be  approved  by  custom  and  conse- 
crated by  religious  ceremonies,  remain,  nevertheless, 
amongst  the  worst  (because  the  most  unnatural)  im- 
moralities. All  that  need  be  said  in  his  young  wife's 
defence  is  that  she  followed  the  only  rule  habitually 
acted  upon  by  mankind,  the  custom  of  her  county  and 
her  class,  and  that  she  acted,  from  beginning  to  end, 
with  the  most  absolute  personal  abnegation.  On  Byron 
her  influence  was  wholly  beneficial.  She  raised  him 
from  a  mode  of  life  that  was  deplored  by  all  his  true 
friends,  to  the  nearest  imitation  of  a  happy  marriage 
that  was  accessible  to  him  ;  but  the  irregularity  of  their 
position  brought  upon  them  the  usual  Nemesis,  and 
after  a  broken  intercourse,  during  which  he  never  could 
feel  her  to  be  really  his  own,  he  went  to  Missolonghi 
and  wrote,  under  the  shadow  of  Death,  — 

"  The  hope,  the  fear,  the  jealous  care, 

The  exalted  portion  of  the  pain 
And  power  of  love,  I  cannot  share, 
But  wear  the  chain." 

The  difference  between  Byron  and  Goethe  in  regard 
to  feminine  companionship  lies  chiefly  in  this,  —  that 
whilst  Byron  does  not  seem  to  have  been  very  suscepti- 
ble of  romantic  love  (though  he  was  often  entangled  in 
liaisons  more  or  less  degrading),  Goethe  was  con- 
stantly in  love  and  imaginative  in  his  passions,  as  might 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.  51 

be  expected  from  a  poet.  He  appears  to  have  encour- 
aged himself  in  amorous  fancies  till  they  became  almost 
or  quite  realities,  as  if  to  give  himself  that  experience 
of  various  feeling  out  of  which  he  afterwards  created 
poems.  He  was  himself  clearly  conscious  that  his 
poetry  was  a  transformation  of  real  experiences  into 
artistic  forms.  The  knowledge  that  he  came  by  his 
poetry  in  this  way  would  naturally  lead  him  to  encour- 
age rather  than  stifle  the  sentiments  which  gave  him 
his  best  materials.  It  is  quite  within  the  comprehensive 
powers  of  a  complex  nature  that  a  poet  might  lead  a 
dual  life ;  being  at  the  same  time  a  man,  ardent,  very 
susceptible  of  all  passionate  emotions,  and  a  poet,  ob- 
serving this  passionate  life  and  accumulating  its  results. 
In  all  this  there  is  very  little  of  what  occupies  us  just 
now,  the  search  for  a  satisfactory  companionship.  The 
woman  with  whom  he  most  enjoyed  that  was  the  Bar- 
oness von  Stein,  but  even  this  friendship  was  not  ulti- 
mately satisfying  and  had  not  a  permanent  character. 
It  lasted  ten  or  eleven  j'ears,  till  his  return  from  the 
Italian  journey,  when  "  she  thought  him  cold,  and  her 
resource  was  —  reproaches.  The  resource  was  more 
feminine  than  felicitous.  Instead  of  s}'mpathizing  with 
him  in  his  sorrow  at  leaving  Italy,  she  felt  the  regret 
as  an  offence  ;  and  perhaps  it  was ;  but  a  truer,  nobler 
nature  would  surety  have  known  how  to  merge  its  own 
pain  in  s}rmpathy  with  the  pain  of  one  beloved.  He 
regretted  Italy ;  she  was  not  a  compensation  to  him ; 
she  saw  this,  and  her  self-love  suffered."  l  And  so  it 
ended.  "  He  offered  friendship  in  vain  ;  he  had  wounded 

i  Lewes's"  Life  of  Goethe." 


52  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

the  self-love  of  a  vain  woman."  Goethe's  longest  con- 
nection was  with  Christiane  Vulpius,  a  woman  quite 
unequal  to  him  in  station  and  culture,  and  in  that  re- 
spect immeasurably  inferior  to  the  Baroness  von  Stein, 
but  superior  to  her  in  the  power  of  affection,  and  able 
to  charm  and  retain  the  poet  by  her  lively,  pleasant 
disposition  and  her  perfect  constancy.  Gradually  she 
rose  in  his  esteem,  and  every  year  increased  her  influ- 
ence over  him.  From  the  precarious  position  of  a 
mistress  out  of  his  house  she  first  attained  that  of  a  wife 
in  all  but  the  legal  title,  as  he  received  her  under  his 
roof  in  defiance  of  all  the  good  society  of  Weimar ;  and 
lastly  she  became  his  lawful  wife,  to  the  still  greater 
scandal  of  the  polite  world.  It  ma}r  even  be  said  that 
her  promotion  did  not  end  here,  for  the  final  test  of 
love  is  death ;  and  when  Christiane  died  she  left  behind 
her  the  deep  and  lasting  sorrow  that  is  happiness  still 
to  those  who  feel  it,  though  happiness  in  its  saddest 
form. 

The  misfortune  of  Goethe  appears  to  have  been  that 
he  dreaded  and  avoided  marriage  in  early  life,  perhaps 
because  he  was  instinctively  aware  of  his  own  ten- 
dency to  form  many  attachments  of  limited  duration ; 
but  his  treatment  of  Christiane  Vulpius,  so  much  be- 
yond any  obligations  which,  according  to  the  world's 
code,  he  had  incurred,  is  sufficient  proof  that  there  was 
a  power  of  constancy  in  his  nature  ;  and  if  he  had  mar- 
ried early  and  suitably  it  is  possible  that  this  constancy 
might  have  stayed  and  steadied  him  from  the  beginning. 
It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  a  marriage  with  a  cultivated 
woman  of  his  own  class  would  have  given  him,  in 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.          53 

course  of  time,  by  mutual  adaptation,  a  much  more 
complete  companionship  than  either  of  those  semi-asso- 
ciations with  the  Frau  von  Stein  and  Christiane,  each 
of  which  only  included  a  part  of  his  great  nature. 
Christiane,  however,  had  the  better  part,  his  heartfelt 
affection. 

The  case  of  John  Stuart  Mill  and  the  remarkable 
woman  by  whose  side  he  lies  buried  at  Avignon,  is  the 
most  perfect  instance  of  thorough  companionship  on 
record ;  and  it  is  remarkable  especially  because  men 
of  great  intellectual  power,  whose  ways  of  thinking  are 
quite  independent  of  custom,  and  whose  knowledge  is  so 
far  outside  the  average  as  to  carry  their  thoughts  con- 
tinually beyond  the  common  horizon,  have  an  extreme 
difficult}7  in  associating  themselves  with  women,  who  are 
naturall}7  attached  to  custom,  and  great  lovers  of  what 
is  settled,  fixed,  limited,  and  clear.  The  ordinary  dis- 
position of  women  is  to  respect  what  is  authorized  much 
more  than  what  is  original,  and  they  willingly,  in  the 
things  of  the  mind,  bow  before  anything  that  is  re- 
peated with  circumstances  of  authority.  An  isolated 
philosopher  has  no  costume  or  surroundings  to  entitle 
him  to  this  kind  of  respect.  He  wears  no  vestment, 
he  is  not  magnified  by  any  architecture,  he  is  not  sup- 
ported by  superiors  or  deferred  to  by  subordinates. 
He  stands  simply  on  his  abilities,  his  learning,  and  his 
honesty.  There  is,  however,  this  one  chance  in  his 
favor,  that  a  certain  natural  sympathy  may  possibly 
exist  between  him  and  some  woman  on  the  earth,  —  if 
he  could  only  find  her,  —  and  this  woman  would  make 
him  independent  of  all  the  rest.  It  was  Stuart  Mill's 


54  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

rare  good-fortune  to  find  this  one  woman,  early  in  life, 
in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Taylor ;  and  as  his  nature  was 
intellectual  and  affectionate  rather  than  passionate,  he 
was  able  to  rest  contented  with  simple  friendship  for  a 
period  of  twenty  years.  Indeed  this  friendship  itself, 
considered  only  as  such,  was  of  very  gradual  growth. 
"  To  be  admitted,"  he  wrote,  "  into  any  degree  of 
mental  intercourse  with  a  being  of  these  qualities,  could 
not  but  have  a  most  beneficial  influence  on  my  develop- 
ment; though  the  effect  was  only  gradual,  and  many 
years  elapsed  before  her  mental  progress  and  mine 
went  forward  in  the  complete  companionship  the}7  at 
last  attained.  The  benefit  I  received  was  far  greater 
than  any  I  could  hope  to  give.  .  .  .  What  I  owe,  even 
intellectually,  to  her,  is  in  its  detail  almost  infinite." 

Mill  speaks  of  his  marriage,  in  1851  (I  use  his  words), 
to  the  lad}r  whose  incomparable  worth  had  made  her 
friendship  the  greatest  source  to  him  both  of  happiness 
and  of  improvement  during  many  }Tears  in  which  they 
never  expected  to  be  in  any  closer  relation  to  one  an- 
other. "  For  seven  and  a  half  years,"  he  goes  on  to  say, 
"  that  blessing  was  mine  ;  for  seven  and  a  half  only  !  I 
can  say  nothing  which  could  describe,  even  in  the  faint- 
est manner,  what  that  loss  was  and  is.  But  because 
I  know  that  she  would  have  wished  it,  I  endeavor  to 
make  the  best  of  what  life  I  have  left  and  to  work  on 
for  her  purposes  with  such  diminished  strength  as  can 
be  derived  from  thoughts  of  her  and  communion  with 
her  memory.  .  .  .  Since  then  I  have  sought  for  such 
alleviation  as  my  state  admitted  of,  by  the  mode  of  life 
which  most  enabled  me  to  feel  her  still  near  me.  I 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.  55 

bought  a  cottage  as  close  as  possible  to  the  place  where 
she  is  buried,  and  there  her  daughter  (my  fellow-sufferer 
and  now  my  chief  comfort)  and  I  live  constantly  during 
a  great  portion  of  the  year.  My  objects  in  life  are 
solely  those  which  were  hers  ;  my  pursuits  and  occupa- 
tions those  in  which  she  shared,  or  sympathized,  and 
which  are  indissolubly  associated  with  her.  Her  mem- 
ory is  to  me  a  religion,  and  her  approbation  the  stand- 
ard by  which,  summing  up  as  it  does  ah1  worthiness, 
I  endeavor  to  regulate  my  life." 

The  examples  that  I  have  selected  (all  purposely 
from  the  real  life  of  well-known  persons)  are  not  alto- 
gether encouraging.  They  show  the  difficulty  that 
there  is  in  finding  the  true  companion.  George  Eliot 
found  hers  at  the  cost  of  a  rebellion  against  social  order 
to  which,  with  her  regulated  mind  and  conservative 
instincts,  she  must  have  been  by  nature  little  disposed. 
Shelley  succeeded  only  after  a  failure  and  whilst  the 
failure  still  had  rights  over  his  entire  existence.  His 
life  was  like  one  of  those  pictures  in  which  there  is  a 
second  work  over  a  first,  and  the  painter  supposes  the 
first  to  be  entirely  concealed,  which  indeed  it  is  for  a 
little  time,  but  it  reappears  afterwards  and  spoils  the 
whole.  Nothing  could  be  more  unsatisfactory  than  the 
domestic  arrangements  of  Byron.  He  married  a  lady 
from  a  belief  in  her  learning  and  virtue,  only  to  find 
that  learning  and  virtue  were  hard  stones  in  comparison 
with  the  daily  bread  of  sympathy.  Then,  after  a  vain 
waste  of  years  in  error,  he  found  true  love  at  last,  but 
on  terms  which  involved  too  heavy  sacrifices  from  her 
who  gave  it,  and  procured  him  no  comfort,  no  peace, 


56  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

if  indeed  his  nature  was  capable  of  any  restfulness  in 
love.  Goethe,  after  a  number  of  attachments  that 
ended  in  nothing,  gave  himself  to  one  woman  by  his 
intelligence  and  to  another  b}T  his  affections,  not  belong- 
ing with  his  whole  nature  to  either,  and  never  in  his 
long  life  knowing  what  it  is  to  have  equal  companion- 
ship in  one's  own  house.  Stuart  Mill  is  contented,  for 
twenty  years,  to  be  the  esteemed  friend  of  a  lad}r  mar- 
ried to  another,  without  hope  of  any  closer  relation ; 
and  when  his  death  permits  them  to  think  of  marriage, 
they  have  only  seven  years  and  a  half  before  them,  and 
he  is  forty-five  years  old. 

Cases  of  this  kind  would  be  discouraging  in  the 
extreme  degree,  were  it  not  that  the  difficulty  is  excep- 
tional. High  intellect  is  in  itself  a  peculiarity,  in  a 
certain  sense  it  is  really  an  eccentricity,  even  when  so 
thoroughly  sane  and  rational  as  in  the  cases  of  George 
Eliot,  Goethe,  and  Mill.  It  is  an  eccentricity  in  this 
sense,  that  its  mental  centre  does  not  coincide  with 
that  of  ordinary  people.  The  mental  centre  of  ordi- 
nar}T  people  is  simply  the  public  opinion,  the  common 
sense,  of  the  class  and  locality  in  which  they  live,  so 
that,  to  them,  the  common  sense  of  people  in  another 
class,  another  locality,  appears  irrational  or  absurd. 
The  mental  centre  of  a  superior  person  is  not  that  of 
class  and  locality.  Shelley  did  not  belong  to  the  Eng- 
lish aristocracy,  though  he  was  born  in  it ;  his  mind  did 
not  centre  itself  in  aristocratic  ideas.  George  Eliot  did 
not  belong  to  the  middle  class  of  the  English  midlands, 
nor  Stuart  Mill  to  the  London  middle  classes.  So  far 
as  Byron  belonged  to  the  aristocracy  it  was  a  mark  of 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.          57 

inferiority  in  him,  owing  to  a  touch  of  vulgarity  in  his 
nature,  the  same  vulgarity  which  made  him  believe 
that  he  could  not  be  a  proper  sort  of  lord  without  a 
prodigal  waste  of  money.  Yet  even  Byron  was  not 
centred  in  local  ideas ;  that  which  was  best  in  him,  his 
enthusiasm  for  Greece,  was  not  an  essential  part  of 
Nottinghamshire  common  sense.  Goethe  lived  much 
more  in  one  locality,  and  even  in  a  small  place ;  but  if 
anything  is  remarkable  in  him  it  is  his  complete  inde- 
pendence of  Weimar  ideas.  It  was  the  Duke,  his 
friend  and  master,  not  the  public  opinion  of  Weimar, 
that  allowed  Goethe  to  be  himself.  He  refused  even 
to  be  classed  intellectually,  and  did  not  recognize  the 
vulgar  opinion  that  a  poet  cannot  be  scientific.  In  all 
these  cases  the  mental  centre  was  not  in  any  local  com- 
mon sense.  It  was  a  result  of  personal  studies  and 
observations  acting  upon  an  individual  idiosyncrasy. 

We  may  now  perceive  how  infinite!}-  easier  it  is  for 
ordinary  people  to  meet  and  be  companionable  than 
for  these  rare  and  superior  minds.  Ordinary  people, 
if  bred  in  the  same  neighborhood  and  class,  are  sure 
to  have  a  great  fund  of  ideas  in  common,  all  those 
ideas  that  constitute  the  local  common  sense.  If  }TOU 
listen  attentively  to  their  conversations  3'ou  will  find 
that  they  hardly  ever  go  outside  of  that.  They  men- 
tion incidents  and  actions,  and  test  them  one  after 
another  by  a  tacit  reference  to  the  public  opinion  of 
the  place.  Therefore  they  have  a  good  chance  of 
agreeing,  of  considering  each  other  reasonable;  and 
this  is  why  it  is  a  generally  received  opinion  that  mar- 
riages between  people  of  the  same  locality  and  the  same 


58  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

class  offer  the  greatest  probability  of  happiness.  So 
they  do,  in  ordinary  cases,  but  if  there  is  the  least 
touch  of  any  original  talent  or  genius  in  one  of  the  par- 
ties, it  is  sure  to  result  in  many  ideas  that  will  be  out- 
side of  any  local  common  sense,  and  then  the  other 
party,  living  in  that  sense,  will  consider  those  ideas 
peculiar,  and  perhaps  deplorable.  Here,  then,  are  ele- 
ments of  dissension  lying  quite  ready  like  explosive 
materials,  and  the  merest  accident  may  shatter  in  a 
moment  the  whole  fabric  of  affection.  To  prevent  such 
an  accident  an  artificial  kind  of  intercourse  is  adopted 
which  is  not  real  companionship,  or  anything  resem- 
bling it. 

The  reader  may  imagine,  and  has  probably  observed 
in  real  life,  a  marriage  in  which  the  husband  is  a  man 
of  original  power,  able  to  think  forcibly  and  profoundly, 
and  the  wife  a  gentle  being  quite  unable  to  enter  into 
any  thought  of  that  quality.  In  cases  of  that  kind  the 
husband  may  be  affectionate  and  even  tender,  but  he 
is  careful  to  utter  nothing  beyond  the  safest  common- 
places. In  the  presence  of  his  wife  he  keeps  his  mind 
quite  within  the  circle  of  custom.  He  has,  indeed,  no 
other  resource.  Custom  and  commonplace  are  the  pro- 
tection of  the  intelligent  against  misapprehension  and 
disapproval. 

Marriages  of  this  unequal  kind  are  an  imitation  of 
those  equal  marriages  in  which  both  parties  live  in  the 
local  common  sense ;  but  there  is  this  vast  difference 
between  them,  that  in  the  imitation  the  more  intelligent 
of  the  two  parties  has  to  stifle  half  his  nature.  An 
intelligent  man  has  to  make  up  his  mind  in  early  life 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.          59 

whether  he  has  courage  enough  for  such  a  sacrifice  or 
not.  Let  him  try  the  experiment  of  associating  for  a 
short  time  with  people  who  cannot  understand  him, 
and  if  he  likes  the  feeling  of  repression  that  results 
from  it,  if  he  is  able  to  stop  short  alwaj-s  at  the  right 
moment,  if  he  can  put  his  knowledge  on  the  shelf  as 
one  puts  a  book  in  a  library,  then  perhaps  he  may 
safely  undertake  the  long  labor  of  companionship  with 
an  unsuitable  wife. 

This  is  sometimes  done  in  pure  hopelessness  of  ever 
finding  a  true  mate.  A  man  has  no  belief  in  any  real 
companionship,  and  therefore  simply  conforms  to  cus- 
tom in  his  marriage,  as  Montaigne  did,  allying  himself 
with  some  young  lady  who  is  considered  in  the  neigh- 
borhood to  be  a  suitable  match  for  him.  This  is  the 
mariage  de  convenance.  Its  purposes  are  intelligible 
and  attainable.  It  may  add  considerably  to  the  dignity 
and  convenience  of  life  and  to  that  particular  kind  of 
happiness  which  results  from  satisfaction  with  our  own 
worldly  prudence.  There  is  also  the  probability  that 
by  perfect  courtesy,  b}'  a  scrupulous  observance  of  the 
rules  of  intercourse  between  highly  civilized  persons 
who  are  not  extremely  intimate,  the  parties  who  con- 
tract a  marriage  of  this  kind  may  give  each  other  the 
mild  satisfactions  that  are  the  reward  of  the  well-bred. 
There  is  a  certain  pleasure  in  watching  every  movement 
of  an  accomplished  lady,  and  if  she  is  your  wife  there 
may  also  be  a  certain  pride.  She  receives  your  guests 
well ;  she  holds  her  place  with  perfect  self-possession  at 
your  table  and  in  her  drawing-room  ;  she  never  commits 
a  social  solecism ;  and  you  feel  that  you  can  trust  her 


60  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

absolutely.  Her  private  income  is  a  help  in  the  main- 
tenance of  your  establishment  and  so  increases  your 
credit  in  the  world.  She  gives  you  in  this  way  a  series 
of  satisfactions  that  may  even,  in  course  of  time,  pro- 
duce rather  affectionate  feelings.  If  she  died  you 
would  certainly  regret  her  loss,  and  think  that  life  was, 
on  the  whole,  decidedly  less  agreeable  without  her. 

But  alas  for  the  dreams  of  youth  if  this  is  all  that  is 
to  be  gained  by  marriage  !  Where  is  the  sweet  friend 
and  companion  who  was  to  have  accompanied  us 
through  prosperous  or  adverse  years,  who  was  to 
have  charmed  and  consoled  us,  who  was  to  have  given 
us  the  infinite  happiness  of  being  understood  and  loved 
at  the  same  time?  Were  all  those  dreams  delusions? 
Is  the  best  companionship  a  mere  fiction  of  the  fancy, 
not  existing  an}7where  upon  the  earth  ? 

I  believe  in  the  promises  of  Nature.  I  believe  that 
In  eve^  want  there  is  the  promise  of  a  possible  satis- 
faction. If  we  are  hungry  there  is  food  somewhere,  if 
we  are  thirsty  there  is  drink.  But  in  the  things  of  the 
world  there  is  often  an  indication  of  order  rather  than 
a  realization  of  it,  so  that  in  the  confusion  of  accidents 
the  hungry  man  ma}^  be  starving  in  a  beleaguered 
city  and  the  thirsty  man  parched  in  the  Sahara.  All 
that  the  wants  indicate  is  that  their  satisfaction  is  pos- 
sible in  nature.  Let  us  believe  that,  for  ever}T  one,  the 
true  mate  exists  somewhere  in  the  world.  She  is 
worth  seeking  for  at  any  cost  of  trouble  or  expense, 
worth  travelling  round  the  globe  to  find,  worth  the 
endurance  of  labor  and  pain  and  privation.  Men 
suffer  all  this  for  objects  of  far  inferior  importance ; 


COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE.  61 

they  risk  life  for  the  chance  of  a  ribbon,  and  sacrifice 
leisure  and  peace  for  the  smallest  increase  of  social 
position.  What  are  these  vanities  in  comparison  with 
the  priceless  benefit,  the  continual  blessing,  of  having 
with  you  always  the  one  person  whose  presence  can 
deliver  you  from  all  the  evils  of  solitude  without  im- 
posing the  constraints  and  hypocrisies  of  society? 
With  her  you  are  free  to  be  as  much  yourself  as  when 
alone ;  you  say  what  you  think  and  she  understands 
you.  Your  silence  does  not  offend  her ;  she  only  thinks 
that  there  will  be  time  enough  to  talk  together  after- 
wards. You  know  that  you  can  trust  her  love,  which 
is  as  unfailing  as  a  law  of  nature.  The  differences  of 
idiosyncrasy  that  exist  between  you  only  add  interest 
to  your  intercourse  by  preventing  her  from  becoming  a 
mere  echo  of  yourself.  She  has  her  own  wajrs,  her  own 
thoughts  that  are  not  yours  and  yet  are  all  open  to  you, 
so  that  you  no  longer  dwell  in  one  intellect  only  but 
have  constant  access  to  a  second  intellect,  probably 
more  refined  and  elegant,  richer  in  what  is  delicate  and 
beautiful.  There  you  make  unexpected  discoveries; 
you  find  that  the  first  instinctive  preference  is  more 
than  justified  by  merits  that  }*ou  had  not  divined.  You 
had  hoped  and  trusted  vaguely  that  there  were  certain 
qualities  ;  but  as  a  painter  who  looks  long  at  a  natural 
scene  is  constantly  discovering  new  beauties  whilst  he 
is  painting  it,  so  the  long  and  loving  observation  of  a 
beautiful  human  mind  reveals  a  thousand  unexpected 
excellences.  Then  come  the  trials  of  life,  the  sud- 
den calamities,  the  long  and  wearing  anxieties.  Each 
of  these  will  only  reveal  more  clearly  the  wonderful 


62  COMPANIONSHIP  IN  MARRIAGE. 

endurance,  fidelity,  and  fortitude  that  there  is  in  every 
noble  feminine  nature,  and  so  build  up  on  the  founda- 
tion of  your  early  love  an  unshakable  edifice  of  esteem 
and  respect  and  love  commingled,  for  which  in  our 
modern  tongue  we  have  no  single  term,  but  which  our 
forefathers  called  "worship." 


FAMILY  TIES.  63 


ESSAY    V. 

FAMILY  TIES. 

of  the  most  remarkable  differences  between 
the  English  and  some  of  the  Continental  nations 
is  the  comparative  looseness  of  family  ties  in  England. 
The  apparent  difference  is  certainly  very  great ;  the  real 
difference  is  possibly  not  so  great.  It  may  be  that  a  good 
deal  of  that  warm  family  affection  which  we  are  con- 
stantly hearing  of  in  France  is  only  make-believe,  but  the 
keeping-up  of  a  make-believe  is  often  favorable  to  the 
reality.  In  England  a  great  deal  of  religion  is  mere  out- 
ward form  ;  but  to  be  surrounded  by  the  constant  observ- 
ance of  outward  form  is  a  great  practical  convenience 
to  the  genuine  religious  sentiment  where  it  exists. 

In  bo3*hood  we  suppose  that  all  gentlemen  of  mature 
age  who  happen  to  be  brothers  must  naturally  have 
fraternal  feelings  ;  in  mature  life  we  know  the  truth,  hav- 
ing discovered  that  there  are  many  brothers  between 
whom  no  sentiment  of  fraternity  exists.  A  foreigner 
who  knows  England  well,  and  has  observed  it  more 
carefully  than  we  ourselves  do,  remarked  to  me  that 
the  fraternal  relationship  is  not  generally  a  cause  of 
attachment  in  England,  though  there  may  be  cases 
of  exceptional  affection.  It  certainly  often  happens 
that  brothers  live  contentedly  apart  and  do  not  seem 
to.  feel  the  need  of  intercourse,  or  that  such  intercourse 


64  FAMILY  TIES. 

as  they  have  has  no  appearance  of  cordiality.  A  very 
common  cause  of  estrangement  is  a  natural  difference 
of  class.  One  man  is  so  constituted  as  to  feel  more  at 
ease  in  a  higher  class,  and  he  rises ;  his  brother  feels 
more  at  ease  in  a  lower  class,  adopts  its  manners,  and 
sinks.  After  a  few  years  have  passed  the  two  will  have 
acquired  such  different  habits,  both  of  thinking  and  liv- 
ing, that  they  will  be  disqualified  for  equal  intercourse. 
If  one  brother  is  a  gentleman  in  tastes  and  manners 
and  the  other  not  a  gentleman,  the  vulgarity  of  the 
coarser  nature  will  be  all  the  more  offensive  to  the  re- 
fined one  that  there  is  the  troublesome  consciousness 
of  a  very  near  relationship  and  of  a  sort  of  indefinite 
responsibility. 

The  frequency  of  coolness  between  brothers  surprises 
us  less  when  we  observe  how  widely  they  may  differ 
from  each  other  in  mental  and  physical  constitution. 
One  may  be  a  sportsman,  traveller,  man  of  the  world ; 
another  a  religious  recluse.  One  may  have  a  sensitive, 
imaginative  nature  and  be  keenly  alive  to  the  influences 
of  literature,  painting,  and  music ;  his  brother  may  be 
a  hard,  practical  man  of  business,  with  a  conviction  that 
an  interest  in  literary  and  artistic  pursuits  is  only  a 
sign  of  weakness. 

The  extreme  uncertainty  that  always  exists  about 
what  really  constitutes  suitableness  is  seen  as  much 
between  brothers  as  between  other  men  ;  for  we  some- 
times see  a  beautiful  fraternal  affection  between  broth- 
ers who  seem  to  have  nothing  whatever  in  common, 
and  sometimes  an  equal  affection  appears  to  be  founded 
upon  likeness. 


FAMILY  TIES.  G5 

Jealousy  in  its  various  forms  is  especially  likely  to 
arise  between  brothers,  and  between  sisters  also  for  the 
same  reason,  which  is  that  comparisons  are  constantly 
suggested  and  even  made  with  injudicious  openness  by 
parents  and  teachers,  and  by  talkative  friends.  The 
development  of  the  faculties  in  }*outh  is  always  ex- 
tremely interesting,  and  is  a  constant  subject  of  obser- 
vation and  speculation.  If  it  is  interesting  to  on-lookers, 
it  is  still  more  likely  to  be  so  to  the  young  persons 
most  concerned.  They  feel  as  young  race-horses  might 
be  expected  to  feel  towards  each  other  if  they  could 
understand  the  conversations  of  trainers,  stud-owners, 
and  grooms. 

If  a  full  account  of  family  life  could  be  generally 
accessible,  if  we  could  read  autobiographies  written  by 
the  several  members  of  the  same  family,  giving  a  sin- 
cere and  independent  account  of  their  own  3'outh,  it 
would  probably  be  found  in  most  cases  that  jealousies 
were  easily  discoverable.  They  need  not  be  very  in- 
tense to  create  a  slight  fissure  of  separation  that  may 
be  slowly  widened  afterwards. 

If  you  listen  attentively  to  the  conversation  of  broth- 
ers about  brothers,  of  sisters  about  sisters,  you  will 
probably  detect  such  little  jealousies  without  difficulty. 
"  My  sister,"  said  a  lady  in  my  hearing,  "  was  very 
much  admired  when  she  was  young,  hut  she  aged  pre- 
maturely" Behind  this  it  was  easy  to  read  the  com- 
parison with  self,  with  a  constitution  less  attractive  to 
others  but  more  robust  and  durable,  and  there  was  a 
faint  reverberation  of  girlish  jealousy  about  attentions 
paid  forty  years  before. 

5 


66  FAMILY  TIES. 

The  jealousies  of  youth  are  too  natural  to  deserve 
any  serious  blame,  but  they  may  be  a  beginning  of  future 
coolness.  A  boy  will  seem  to  praise  the  talents  of  his 
brother  with  the  purpose  of  implying  that  the  facilities 
given  by  such  talents  make  industry  almost  superfluous, 
whilst  his  own  more  strenuous  efforts  are  not  appre- 
ciated as  they  deserve.  Instead  of  soothing  and  calm- 
ing these  natural  jealousies  some  parents  irritate  and 
inflame  them.  They  make  wounding  remarks  that 
produce  evil  in  after  }'ears.  I  have  seen  a  sensitive 
boy  wince  under  cutting  sarcasms  that  he  will  remem- 
ber till  his  hair  is  gray. 

If  there  are  fraternal  jealousies  in  boyhood,  when 
the  material  comforts  and  the  outward  show  of  exist 
ence  are  the  same  for  brothers,  much  more  are  these 
jealousies  likety  to  be  accentuated  in  after-life,  when 
differences  of  worldly  success,  or  of  inherited  fortune, 
establish  distinctions  so  obvious  as  to  be  visible  to  all. 
The  operation  of  the  aristocratic  custom  by  which  eldest 
sons  are  made  very  much  richer  than  their  brethren 
can  scarcely  be  in  favor  of  fraternal  intimacy.  No 
general  rule  can  be  established,  because  characters 
differ  so  widely.  An  eldest  brother  may  be  so  amiable, 
so  truly  fraternal,  that  the  cadets  instead  of  feeling  envy 
of  his  wealth  may  take  a  positive  pride  in  it ;  still,  the 
natural  effect  of  creating  such  a  vast  inequality  is  to 
separate  the  favored  heir  from  the  less-favored  younger 
sons.  I  leave  the  reader  to  think  over  instances  that 
may  be  known  to  him.  Amongst  those  known  to  me 
I  find  several  cases  of  complete  or  partial  suspension 
of  intercourse  and  others  of  manifest  indifference  and 


FAMILY  TIES.  67 

coolness.  One  incident  recurs  to  my  memory  after  a 
lapse  of  thirty  years.  I  was  present  at  the  departure 
of  a  }Toung  friend  for  India  when  his  eldest  brother  was 
too  indifferent  to  get  up  a  little  earlier  to  see  him  off, 
and  said,  "Oh,  you're  going,  are  you?  Well,  good- 
by,  John  ! "  through  his  bedroom  door.  The  lad  carried 
a  wound  in  his  heart  to  the  distant  East. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  mere  fact  of  fraternity  to 
establish  friendship.     The  line  of  "  In  Memoriam," — 

"  More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me," 

is  simply  true  of  every  real  friend,  unless  friendship  adds 
itself  to  brotherhood,  in  which  case  the  intimacy  arising 
from  a  thousand  details  of  earl}'  life  in  common,  from 
the  thorough  knowledge  of  the  same  persons  and  places, 
and  from  the  memories  of  parental  affection,  must  give 
a  rare  completeness  to  friendship  itself  and  make  it  in 
these  respects  even  superior  to  marriage,  which  has  the 
great  defect  that  the  associations  of  early  life  are  not 
the  same.  I  remember  a  case  of  wonderfully  strong 
affection  between  two  brothers  who  were  daily  compan- 
ions till  death  separated  them ;  but  they  were  younger 
sons  and  their  incomes  were  exactly  alike ;  their  tastes, 
too,  and  all  their  habits  were  the  same.  The  only  other 
case  that  occurs  to  me  as  comparable  to  this  one  was 
also  of  two  3'ounger  sons,  one  of  whom  had  an  extraor- 
dinary talent  for  business.  They  were  partners  in  trade, 
and  no  dissension  ever  arose  between  them,  because 
the  superiority  of  the  specially  able  man  was  affection- 
ately recognized  and  deferred  to  by  the  other.  If,  how- 
ever, they  had  not  been  partners  it  is  possible  that  the 


68  FAMILY  TIES. 

brilliant  success  of  one  brother  might  have  created  a 
contrast  and  made  intercourse  more  constrained. 

The  case  of  John  Bright  and  his  brother  may  be 
mentioned,  as  he  has  made  it  public  in  one  of  his 
most  charming  and  interesting  speeches.  His  political 
work  has  prevented  him  from  laboring  in  his  business, 
but  his  brother  and  partner  has  affectionately  consid- 
ered him  an  active  member  of  the  firm,  so  that  Mr. 
Bright  has  enjoyed  an  income  sufficient  for  his  political 
independence.  In  this  instance  the  comparatively  ob- 
scure brother  has  shown  real  nobility  of  nature.  Free 
from  the  jealousy  and  envy  which  would  have  vexed  a 
small  mind  in  such  a  position  he  has  taken  pleasure  in 
the  fame  of  the  statesman.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  the 
view  that  a  mean  mind  would  have  taken  of  a  similar 
situation.  Let  us  add  that  the  statesman  himself  has 
shown  true  fraternal  generosity  of  another  kind,  and 
perhaps  of  a  more  difficult  kind,  for  it  is  often  easier 
to  confer  an  obligation  than  to  accept  it  heartily. 

It  has  often  been  a  subject  of  astonishment  to  me 
that  between  very  near  relations  a  sensitive  feeling 
about  pecuniary  matters  should  be  so  lively  as  it  is. 
I  remember  an  instance  in  the  last  generation  of  a  rich 
man  in  Cheshire  who  made  a  present  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  a  lady  nearly  related  to  him.  He  was  very 
wealthy,  she  was  not ;  the  sum  would  never  be  missed 
by  him,  whilst  to  her  it  made  a  great  difference.  What 
could  be  more  reasonable  than  such  a  correction  of  the 
inequalities  of  fortune?  Man}T  people  would  have  re- 
fused the  present,  out  of  pride,  but  it  was  much  kinder 
to  accept  it  in  the  same  good  spirit  that  dictated  the 


FAMILY  TIES.  60 

offer.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  poor  gentlefolks 
whose  only  fault  is  a  sense  of  independence,  so  fa- 
rouche that  nobody  can  get  them  to  accept  an^  thing  of 
importance,  and  any  good  that  is  done  to  them  has 
to  be  plotted  with  consummate  art. 

A  wonderful  light  is  thrown  upon  family  velations 
when  we  become  acquainted  with  the  real  state  of  those 
family  pecuniary  transactions  that  are  not  revealed  to 
the  public.  The  strangest  discovery  is  the  widely 
different  ways  in  which  pecuniary  obligations  are  esti- 
mated by  different  persons,  especially  by  different 
women.  Men,  I  believe,  take  them  rather  more  equally  ; 
but  as  women  go  by  sentiment  they  have  a  tendency  to 
extremes,  either  exaggerating  the  importance  of  an 
obligation  when  they  like  to  feel  very  much  coligcd, 
or  else  adopting  the  convenient  theory  that  the  gen- 
erous person  is  fulfilling  a  simple  duty,  and  that  there 
is  no  obligation  whatever.  One  woman  will  go  into 
ecstasies  of  gratitude  because  a  brother  makes  her  a 
present  of  a  few  pounds ;  and  another  will  never  thank 
a  benefactor  who  allows  her,  year  by  year,  an  annuity 
far  larger  than  is  justified  by  his  precarious  profes- 
sional income.  In  one  real  case  a  lady  lived  for  many 
years  on  her  brother's  generosity  and  was  openly  hostile 
to  him  all  the  time.  After  her  death  it  was  found  that 
she  had  insulted  him  in  her  will.  In  another  case  a 
sister  dependent  on  her  brother's  bounty  never  thanked 
him  or  even  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  a  sum  of 
money,  but  if  the  money  was  not  sent  to  the  day  she 
would  at  once  write  a  sharp  letter  full  of  bitter  re- 
proaches for  his  neglect.  The  marvel  is  the  incredible 


70  FAMILY  TIES. 

patience  with  which  toiling  men  will  go  on  sending  the 
fruits  of  their  industry  to  relations  who  do  not  even 
make  a  pretence  of  affection. 

A  frequent  cause  of  hostility  between  very  near  rela- 
tions is  the  restriction  of  generosity.  So  long  as  you 
set  no  limit  to  your  giving  it  is  well,  you  are  doing 
your  duty ;  but  the  moment  you  fix  a  limit  the  case  is 
altered  ;  then  all  past  sacrifices  go  for  nothing,  }Tour 
glory  has  set  in  gloom,  and  you  will  be  considered  as 
more  niggardl}'  than  if  you  had  not  begun  to  be  gener- 
ous. Here  is  a  real  case,  out  of  many.  A  man  makes 
bad  speculations,  but  conceals  the  full  extent  of  his 
losses,  and  by  the  influence  of  his  wife  obtains  impor- 
tant sums  from  a  near  relation  of  hers  who  half  ruins 
himself  to  save  her.  When  the  full  disaster  is  known 
the  relation  stops  short  and  declines  to  ruin  himself 
entirely ;  she  then  bitterly  reproaches  him  for  his  self- 
ishness. A  very  short  time  before  writing  the  present 
Essay  I  was  travelling,  and  met  an  old  friend,  a  bachelor 
of  limited  means  but  of  a  most  generous  disposition, 
the  kindest  and  most  affectionate  nature  I  ever  knew  in 
the  male  sex.  I  asked  for  news  about  his  brother. 
'-I  never  see  him  now ;  a  coldness  has  sprung  up  be- 
tween us."  —  "It  must  be  his  fault,  then,  for  I  am  sure  it 
did  not  originate  with  you."  —  "  The  truth  is,  he  got  into 
money  difficulties,  so  I  gave  him  a  thousand  pounds. 
He  thought  that  under  the  circumstances  I  ought  to 
have  done  more  and  broke  off  all  intercourse.  I  really 
believe  that  if  I  had  given  him  nothing  we  should  have 
been  more  friendly  at  this  day." 

The  question  how  far  we  are  bound  to  allow  family 


FAMILY  TIES.  71 

ties  to  regulate  our  intercourse  is  not  easily  treated  in 
general  terms,  though  it  seems  plainer  in  particular 
cases.  Here  is  one  for  the  reader's  consideration. 

Owing  to  natural  refinement,  and  to  certain  circum- 
stances of  which  he  intelligently  availed  himself,  one 
member  of  a  family  is  a  cultivated  gentleman,  whose 
habitual  ways  of  thinking  are  of  rather  an  elevated 
kind,  and  whose  manners  and  language  are  invariably 
faultless.  He  is  blessed  with  very  near  relations  whose 
principal  characteristic  is  loud,  confident,  overwhelm- 
ing vulgarit}'.  He  is  always  uncomfortable  with  these 
relations.  He  knows  that  the  wa}rs  of  thinking  and 
speaking  which  are  natural  to  him  will  seem  cold  and 
uncongenial  to  them  ;  that  not  one  of  his  thoughts  can 
be  exactly  understood  by  them ;  that  his  deficiency  in 
what  they  consider  heartiness  is  a  defect  he  cannot  get 
over.  On  the  other  hand,  he  takes  no  interest  in  what 
they  say,  because  their  opinions  on  all  the  subjects  he 
cares  about  are  too  crude,  and  their  information  too 
scanty  or  erroneous.  If  he  said  what  he  felt  impelled 
to  say,  all  his  talk  would  be  a  perpetual  correction  of 
their  clumsy  blunders.  He  has,  therefore,  no  resource 
but  to  repress  himself  and  try  to  act  a  part,  the  part  of 
a  pleased  companion  ;  but  this  is  wearisome,  especially 
if  prolonged.  The  end  is  that  he  keeps  out  of  their 
way,  and  is  set  down  as  a  proud,  conceited  person, 
and  an  unkind  relative.  In  reality  he  is  simply  refined 
and  has  a  difficulty  in  accommodating  himself  to  the 
ways  of  all  vulgar  society  whatever,  whether  composed 
of  his  own  relations  or  of  strangers.  Does  he  deserve 
to  be  blamed  for  this?  Certainly  not.  He  has  not  the 


72  FAMILY  TIES. 

flexibility,  the  dramatic  power,  to  adapt  himself  to  a 
lower  state  of  civilization  ;  that  is  his  only  fault.  His 
relations  are  persons  with  whom,  if  they  were  not  re- 
lations, nobody  would  expect  him  to  associate ;  but 
because  he  and  they  happen  to  be  descended  from  a 
common  ancestor  he  is  to  maintain  an  impossible  inti- 
macy. He  wishes  them  no  harm  ;  he  is  ready  to  make 
sacrifices  to  help  them ;  his  misfortune  is  that  he  does 
not  possess  the  humor  of  a  Dickens  that  would  have 
enabled  him  to  find  amusement  in  their  vulgarity,  and 
he  prefers  solitude  to  that  infliction. 

There  is  a  French  proverb,  "  Les  cousins  ne  sont  pas 
parents."  The  exact  truth  would  appear  to  be  rather 
that  cousins  are  relations  or  not  just  as  it  pleases  them 
to  acknowledge  the  relationship,  and  according  to  the 
natural  possibilities  of  companionship  between  the 
parties.  If  they  are  of  the  same  class  in  society 
(which  does  not  always  happen),  and  if  they  have 
pursuits  in  common  or  can  understand  each  other's 
interests,  and  if  there  is  that  mysterious  suitableness 
which  makes  people  like  to  be  together,  then  the  fact 
of  cousinship  is  seized  upon  as  a  convenient  pretext 
for  making  intercourse  more  frequent,  more  intimate, 
and  more  affectionate  ;  but  if  there  is  nothing  to  attract 
one  cousin  to  another  the  relationship  is  scarcely  ac- 
knowledged. Cousins  are,  or  are  not,  relations  just  as 
they  find  it  agreeable  to  themselves.  It  need  hardly 
be  added  that  it  is  a  general  though  not  an  invariable 
rule  that  the  relationship  is  better  remembered  on  the 
humbler  side.  The  cousinly  degree  may  be  felt  to  be 
very  close  under  peculiar  circumstances.  An  only 


FAMILY  TIES.  78 

child  looks  to  his  cousins  for  the  brotherly  and  sisterly 
affection  that  fate  has  denied  him  at  home,  and  he  is 
not  always  disappointed.  Even  distant  cousins  may  be 
truly  fraternal,  just  as  first  cousins  may  happen  to  be 
very  distant,  the  relationship  is  so  variable  and  elastic 
in  its  nature. 

Unmarried  people  have  often  a  great  vague  dread  ot 
their  future  wife's  relations,  even  when  the  lady  has 
not  yet  been  fixed  upon,  and  married  people  have  some- 
times found  the  reality  more  terrible  even  than  their 
gloomy  anticipation.  And  yet  it  may  happen  that  some 
of  these  dreaded  new  relations  will  be  unexpectedly 
valuable  and  supply  elements  that  were  grievously  want- 
ing. They  may  bring  new  life  into  a  dull  house,  they 
may  enliven  the  sluggish  talk  with  wit  and  information, 
they  may  take  a  too  thoughtful  and  studious  man  out  of 
the  weary  round  of  his  own  ideas.  They  may  even  in 
course  of  time  win  such  a  place  in  one's  affection  that 
if  they  are  taken  away  by  death  they  will  leave  a  great 
void  and  an  enduring  sorrow.  I  write  these  lines  from 
a  sweet  and  sad  experience.1 

Intellectual  men  are,  more  than  others,  liable  to  a 
feeling  of  dissatisfaction  with  their  relations  because 
they  want  intellectual  sympathy  and  interest,  which 
relations  hardty  ever  give.  The  reason  is  extremely 
simple.  Any  special  intellectual  pursuit  is  understood 
only  by  a  small  select  class  of  its  own,  and  our  relations 
are  given  us  out  of  the  general  body  of  society  without 

1  Only  a  poet  can  write  of  his  private  sorrows.  In  prose  one 
cannot  sing,  — 

"  A  dirge  for  her,  the  doubly  dead,  in  that  she  died  M>  young." 


74  FAMILY  TIES. 

any  selection,  and  they  are  not  very  numerous,  so  that 
the  chances  against  our  finding  intellectual  sympathy 
amongst  them  are  calculably  veiy  great.  As  we  grow 
older  we  get  accustomed  to  this  absence  of  sympathy 
with  our  pursuits,  and  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
but  in  youth  it  seems  strange  that  what  we  feel  and 
know  to  be  so  interesting  should  have  no  interest  for 
those  nearest  to  us.  Authors  sometimes  feel  a  little 
hurt  that  their  nearest  relations  will  not  read  their 
books,  and  are  but  dimly  aware  that  they  have  written 
any  books  at  all ;  but  do  they  read  books  of  the  same 
class  by  other  writers?  As  an  author  you  are  in  the 
same  position  that  other  authors  occupy,  but  with  this 
difference,  which  is  against  you,  that  familiarity  has 
made  you  a  commonplace  person  in  your  own  circle, 
and  that  is  a  bad  opening  for  the  reception  of  jx>ur 
higher  thoughts.  This  want  of  intellectual  sympathy 
does  not  prevent  affection,  and  we  ought  to  appreciate 
affection  at  its  full  value  in  spite  of  it.  Your  brother 
or  your  cousin  may  be  strongly  attached  to  you  per- 
sonally, with  an  old  love  dating  from  }Tour  boyhood, 
but  he  may  separate  you  (the  human  creature  that  he 
knows)  from  the  author  of  your  books,  and  not  feel 
the  slightest  curiosity  about  the  books,  believing  that 
he  knows  you  perfect^  without  them,  and  that  they  are 
only  a  sort  of  costume  in  which  you  perform  before  the 
public.  A  female  relative  who  has  given  up  her  mind 
to  the  keeping  of  some  clergyman,  may  scrupulously 
avoid  your  literature  in  order  that  it  may  not  contami- 
nate her  soul,  and  yet  she  may  love  you  still  in  a  painful 
way  and  be  sincerely  sorry  that  you  have  no  other  pros- 
pect but  that  of  eternal  punishment. 


FAMILY   TIES.  75 

I  have  sometimes  heard  the  question  proposed  whether 
relations  or  friends  were  the  more  valuable  as  a  support 
and  consolation.  Fate  gives  us  our  relations,  whilst  we 
select  our  friends ;  and  therefore  it  would  seem  at  first 
sight  that  the  friends  must  be  better  adapted  for  us ; 
but  it  may  happen  that  we  have  not  selected  with  great 
wisdom,  or  that  we  have  not  had  good  opportunities  for 
making  a  choice  really  answering  to  our  deepest  needs. 
Still,  there  must  have  been  mutual  affinity  of  some  kind 
to  make  a  friendship,  whilst  relations  are  all  like  tickets 
in  a  lottery.  It  may  therefore  be  argued  that  the  more 
relations  we  have,  the  better,  because  we  are  more 
likely  to  meet  with  two  or  three  to  love  us  amongst 
fifty  than  amongst  five. 

The  peculiar  peril  of  blood-relationship  is  that  those' 
who  are  closely  connected  by  it  often  permit  themselves 
an  amount  of  mutual  rudeness  (especially  in  the  middle 
and  lower  classes)  which  they  never  would  think  of 
inflicting  upon  a  stranger.  In  some  families  people 
really  seem  to  suppose  that  it  does  not  matter  how 
roughly  the}'  treat  each  other.  They  utter  unmeasured 
reproaches  about  trifles  not  worth  a  moment's  anger ; 
they  magnify  small  differences  that  only  require  to  be 
let  alone  and  forgotten,  or  they  relieve  the  monotony 
of  quarrels  with  an  occasional  fit  of  the  sulks.  Some- 
times it  is  an  irascible  father  who  is  always  scolding, 
sometimes  a  loud-tongued  matron  shrieks  "  in  her  fierce 
volubility."  Some  children  take  up  the  note  and  fire 
back  broadside  for  broadside ;  others  wait  for  a  cessa- 
tion in  contemptuous  silence  and  calmly  disregard  the 
thunder.  Family  life  indeed !  domestic  peace  and 


76  FAMILY  TIES. 

bliss !  Give  me,  rather,  the  bachelor's  lonely  hearth 
with  a  noiseless  lamp  and  a  book!  The  manners  of 
the  ill-mannered  are  never  so  odious,  unbearable,  ex- 
asperating, as  they  are  to  their  own  nearest  kindred. 
How  is  a  lad  to  enjoy  the  society  of  his  mother  if  she 
is  perpetually  "  nagging"  and  "nattering"  at  him? 
How  is  he  to  believe  that  his  coarse  father  has  a  tender 
anxiety  for  his  welfare  when  everything  that  he  does  is 
judged  with  unfatherly  harshness?  Those  who  are 
condemned  to  live  with  people  for  whom  scolding  and 
quarrelling  are  a  necessary  of  existence  must  either  be 
rude  in  self-defence  or  take  refuge  in  a  sullen  and 
stubborn  taciturnity.  Young  people  who  have  to  live 
in  these  little  domestic  hells  look  forward  to  any  change 
as  a  desirable  emancipation.  The}7  are  ready  to  go  to 
sea,  to  emigrate.  I  have  heard  of  one  who  went  into 
domestic  service  under  a  feigned  name  that  he  might  be 
out  of  the  range  of  his  brutal  father's  tongue. 

The  misery  of  uncongenial  relations  is  caused  mainly 
by  the  irksome  consciousness  that  they  are  obliged  to 
live  together.  u  To  think  that  there  is  so  much  space 
upon  the  earth,  that  there  are  so  m&uy  houses,  so  many 
rooms,  and  yet  that  I  am  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  com- 
pelled to  live  in  the  same  lodging  with  this  uncivilized, 
ill-conditioned  fellow !  To  think  that  there  are  such 
vast  areas  of  tranquil  silence,  and  }Tet  that  I  am  com- 
pelled to  hear  the  voice  of  that  scolding  woman !  " 
This  is  the  feeling,  and  the  relief  would  be  temporally 
separation.  In  this,  as  in  almost  everything  that  con- 
cerns human  intercourse,  the  rich  have  an  immense 
advantage,  as  the}7  can  take  only  just  so  much  of  each 


FAMILY  TIES.  77 

other's  society  as  they  find  by  experience  to  be  agree- 
able. They  can  quietly,  and  without  rudeness,  avoid 
each  other  by  living  in  different  houses,  and  even  in 
the  same  house  they  can  have  different  apartments  and 
be  very  little  together.  Imagine  the  difference  be- 
tween two  rich  brothers,  each  with  his  suite  of  rooms 
in  a  separate  tower  of  the  paternal  castle,  and  two 
very  poor  ones,  inconveniently  occupying  the  same 
narrow,  uncomfortable  bed,  and  unable  to  remain  in  the 
wretched  paternal  tenement  without  being  constantly 
in  each  other's  way.  Between  these  extremes  are  a 
thousand  degrees  of  more  or  less  inconvenient  nearness. 
Solitude  is  bad  for  us,  but  we  need  a  margin  of  free 
space.  If  we  are  to  be  crowded  let  it  be  as  the  stars 
are  crowded.  They  look  as  if  they  were  huddled 
together,  but  every  one  of  them  has  his  own  clear 
space  in  the  illimitable  ether. 


78  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 


ESSAY  VI 

FATHERS  AND   SONS. 

r  I  ""HERE  is  a  certain  unsatisfactoriness  in  this  rela- 
•*•  tion  in  our  time  which  is  felt  by  fathers  and  often 
avowed  by  them  when  they  meet,  though  it  does  not 
occupy  any  conspicuous  place  in  the  literature  of  life 
and  manners.  It  has  been  fully  treated  by  M.  Legouve, 
the  French  Academician,  in  his  own  lively  and  elegant 
way ;  but  he  gave  it  a  volume,  and  I  must  here  confine 
mj'self  to  the  few  points  which  can  be  dealt  with  in  the 
limits  of  a  short  Essay. 

We  are  in  an  interregnum  between  two  systems. 
The  old  system,  founded  on  the  stern  authorit}7  of  the 
father,  is  felt  to  be  out  of  harm  on}7  with  the  amenity  of 
general  social  intercourse  in  modern  times  and  also 
with  the  increasing  gentleness  of  political  governors 
and  the  freedom  of  the  governed.  It  is  therefore,  by 
common  consent,  abandoned.  Some  new  system  that 
may  be  founded  upon  a  clear  intelligence  of  both  the 
paternal  and  the  filial  relations  has  yet  to  come  into 
force.  Meanwhile,  we  are  trying  various  experiments, 
suggested  by  the  different  characters  and  circumstances 
of  fathers  and  sons,  each  father  trying  his  own  experi- 
ments, and  we  communicate  to  each  other  such  results 
as  we  arrive  at. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  defect  here  is  the  absence  of  a 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  79 

settled  public  opinion  to  which  both  parties  would  feel 
bound  to  defer.  Under  the  old  system  the  authority  of 
the  father  was  efficiently  maintained,  not  only  by  the 
laws,  but  by  that  general  consensus  of  opinion  which 
is  far  more  powerful  than  law.  The  new  system,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  will  be  founded  on  general  opinion 
again,  but  our  present  experimental  condition  is  one 
of  anarchy. 

This  is  the  real  cause  of  whatever  may  be  felt  as 
unsatisfactory  in  the  modern  paternal  and  filial  rela- 
tions. It  is  not  that  fathers  have  become  more  unjust 
or  sons  more  rebellious. 

The  position  of  the  father  was  in  old  times  perfect^ 
defined.  He  was  the  commander,  not  only  armed  by 
the  law  but  by  religion  and  custom.  Disobedience  to 
his  dictates  was  felt  to  be  out  of  the  question,  unless 
the  insurgent  was  prepared  to  meet  the  consequences 
of  open  mutiny.  The  maintenance  of  the  father's  au- 
thority depended  only  on  himself.  If  he  abdicated  it 
through  indolence  or  weakness  he  incurred  moral  repro- 
bation not  unmingled  with  contempt,  whilst  in  the 
present  day  reprobation  would  rather  follow  a  new 
attempt  to  vindicate  the  antique  authority. 

Besides  this  change  in  public  opinion  there  is  a  new 
condition  of  paternal  feeling.  The  modern  father,  in 
the  most  civilized  nations  and  classes,  has  acquired  a 
sentiment  that  appears  to  have  been  absolutely  unknown 
to  his  predecessors :  he  has  acquired  a  dislike  for  com- 
mand which  increases  with  the  age  of  the  son ;  so  that 
there  is  an  unfortunate  coincidence  of  increasing  strength 
of  will  on  the  son's  part  with  decreasing  disposition  to 


80  FATHERS  AND   SONS. 

restrain  it  on  the  father's  part.  What  a  modern  father 
really  desires  is  that  a  son  should  go  right  of  his  own 
accord,  and  if  not  quite  of  his  own  accord,  then  in 
consequence  of  a  little  affectionate  persuasion.  This 
feeling  would  make  command  unsatisfactory  to  us,  even 
if  it  were  followed  by  a  military  promptitude  of  obe- 
dience. We  do  not  wish  to  be  like  captains,  and  our 
sons  like  privates  in  a  company ;  we  care  only  to  exer- 
cise a  certain  beneficent  influence  over  them,  and  we 
feel  that  if  we  gave  military  orders  we  should  destroy 
that  peculiar  influence  which  is  of  the  most  fragile  and 
delicate  nature. 

But  now  see  the  unexpected  consequences  of  our 
modern  dislike  to  command  !  It  might  be  argued  that 
there  is  a  certain  advantage  on  our  side  from  the  very 
rarity  of  the  commands  we  give,  which  endows  them 
with  extraordinary  force.  Would  it  not  be  more  accu- 
rate to  say  that  as  we  give  orders  less  and  less  our  sons 
become  unaccustomed  to  receive  orders  from  us,  and 
if  ever  the  occasion  arises  when  we  must  give  them  a 
downright  order  it  comes  upon  their  feelings  with  a 
harshness  so  excessive  that  they  are  likely  to  think  us 
tyrannical,  whereas  if  we  had  kept  up  the  old  habits 
of  command  such  orders  would  have  seemed  natural 
and  right,  and  would  not  have  been  less  scrupulously 
obeyed? 

The  paternal  dislike  to  give  orders  personally  has  had 
a  peculiar  effect  upon  education.  We  are  not  yet  quite 
imbecile  enough  to  suppose  that  discipline  can  be  en- 
tirely dispensed  with  ;  and  as  there  is  very  little  of  it  in 
modern  houses  it  has  to  be  sought  elsewhere,  so  boys 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  81 

are  placed  more  and  more  completely  under  the  author- 
ity of  schoolmasters,  often  living  at  such  a  distance 
from  the  father  of  the  family  that  for  several  months  at 
a  time  he  can  exercise  no  direct  influence  or  authority 
over  his  own  children.  This  leads  to  the  establishment 
of  a  peculiar  boyish  code  of  justice.  Boys  come  to 
think  it  not  unjust  that  the  schoolmaster  should  exer- 
cise authority,  when  if  the  father  attempted  to  exercise 
authority  of  equal  rigor,  or  an}'thing  approaching  it, 
the}'  would  look  upon  him  as  an  odious  domestic  tyrant, 
entirety  forgetting  that  any  power  to  enforce  obedience 
which  is  possessed  b}7  the  schoolmaster  is  held  by  him 
vicariously  as  the  father's  representative  and  delegate. 
From  this  we  arrive  at  the  curious  and  unforeseen  con- 
clusion that  the  modern  father  only  exercises  strong 
authority  through  another  person  who  is  often  a  per- 
fect stranger  and  whose  interest  in  the  boy's  present 
and  future  well-being  is  as  nothing  in  comparison  with 
the  father's  anxious  and  continual  solicitude. 

The  custom  of  placing  the  education  of  sons  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  strangers  is  so  deadly  a  blow  to 
parental  influence  that  some  fathers  have  resolutely 
rebelled  against  it  and  tried  to  become  themselves  the 
educators  of  their  children.  James  Mill  is  the  most 
conspicuous  instance  of  this,  both  for  persistence  and 
success.  His  way  of  educating  his  illustrious  son  has 
often  been  coarsely  misrepresented  as  a  merciless  system 
of  cram.  The  best  answer  to  this  is  preserved  for  us 
in  the  words  of  the  pupil  himself.  He  said  expressly  : 
"  Mine  was  not  an  education  of  cram,"  and  that  the 
one  cardinal  point  in  it,  the  cause  of  the  good  it  effected, 


82  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

was  that  his  father  never  permitted  an}Tthing  he  learnt 
to  degenerate  into  a  mere  exercise  of  memory.  He 
greatly  valued  the  training  he  had  received,  and  fully 
appreciated  its  utility  to  him  in  after-life.  "  If  I  have 
accomplished  anything,"  he  says,  "  I  owe  it,  amongst 
other  fortunate  circumstances,  to  the  fact  that  through 
the  early  training  bestowed  on  me  by  my  father  I 
started,  I  may  fairly  say,  with  an  advantage  of  a  quarter 
of  a  century  over  my  contemporaries." 

But  though  in  this  case  the  pupil's  feeling  in  after- 
life was  one  of  gratitude,  it  may  be  asked  what  were 
his  filial  sentiments  whilst  this  paternal  education  was 
going  forward.  This  question  also  is  clearly  and 
frankly  answered  by  Stuart  Mill  himself.  He  says 
that  his  father  was  severe ;  that  his  authority  was  defi- 
cient in  the  demonstration  of  tenderness,  though  proba- 
bly not  in  the  reality  of  it;  that  "he  resembled  most 
Englishmen  in  being  ashamed  of  the  signs  of  feeling, 
and  by  the  absence  of  demonstration  starving  the  feel- 
ings themselves."  Then  the  son  goes  on  to  say  that 
it  was  "impossible  not  to  feel  true  pity  for  a  father 
who  did,  and  strove  to  do,  so  much  for  his  children, 
who  would  have  so  valued  their  affection,  yet  who  must 
have  been  constantly  feeling  that  fear  of  him  was  dry- 
ing it  up  at  its  source."  And  we  probably  have  the 
exact  truth  about  Stuart  Mill's  own  sentiments  when  he 
sa}rs  that  the  younger  children  loved  his  father  tenderly, 
"  and  if  I  cannot  sa}7  so  much  of  nryself  I  was  always 
loj-all}-  devoted  to  him." 

This  contains  the  central  difficulty  about  paternal 
education.  If  the  choice  were  left  to  boys  they  would 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  83 

learn  nothing,  and  you  cannot  make  them  work  vigor- 
ously "  by  the  sole  force  of  persuasion  and  soft  words." 
Therefore  a  severe  discipline  has  to  be  established,  and 
this  severity  is  incompatible  with  tenderness  ;  so  that  in 
order  to  preserve  the  affection  of  his  children  the  father 
intrusts  discipline  to  a  delegate. 

But  if  the  objection  to  parental  education  is  clear  in 
Mill's  case,  so  are  its  advantages,  and  especially  the  one 
inestimable  advantage  that  the  father  was  able  to  im- 
press himself  on  his  son's  mind  and  to  live  afterwards 
in  his  son's  intellectual  life.  James  Mill  did  not  abdi- 
cate, as  fathers  generally  do.  He  did  not  confine  pa- 
ternal duties  to  the  simple  one  of  signing  checks.  And 
if  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  imitate  him  entirely, 
if  we  have  not  his  profound  and  accurate  knowledge,  if 
we  have  not  his  marvellous  patience,  if  it  is  not  desir- 
able that  we  should  take  upon  ourselves  alone  that 
immense  responsibility  which  he  accepted,  may  we  not 
imitate  him  to  such  a  degree  as  to  secure  some  intel- 
lectual and  moral  influence  over  our  own  offspring  and 
not  leave  them  entirely  to  the  teaching  of  the  school- 
fellow (that  most  influential  and  most  dangerous  of  all 
teachers),  the  pedagogue,  and  the  priest? 

The  only  practical  way  in  which  this  can  be  done  is 
for  the  father  to  act  within  fixed  limits.  May  he  not 
reserve  to  himself  some  speciality  ?  He  can  do  this  if 
he  is  himself  master  of  some  language  or  science  that 
enters  into  the  training  of  his  son ;  but  here  again  cer- 
tain difficulties  present  themselves. 

By  the  one  vigorous  resolution  to  take  the  entire 
burden  upon  his  own  shoulders  James  Mill  escaped 


84  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

minor  embarrassments.  It  is  the  partial  education  by 
the  father  that  is  difficult  to  carry  out  with  steadiness 
and  consistenc}\  First,  as  to  place  of  residence.  If 
3'our  son  is  far  away  during  his  months  of  work,  and  at 
home  only  for  vacation  pleasures,  what,  pray,  is  your 
hold  upon  him  ?  He  escapes  from  you  in  two  direc- 
tions, by  work  and  by  play.  I  have  seen  a  Highland 
gentleman  who,  to  avoid  this  and  do  his  duty  to  his  sons, 
quitted  a  beautiful  residence  in  magnificent  scenery  to 
go  and  live  in  the  dull  and  ugly  neighborhood  of  Rugby. 
It  is  not  convenient  or  possible  for  every  father  to  make 
the  same  sacrifice,  but  if  you  are  able  to  do  it  other 
difficulties  remain.  Any  speciality  that  you  may  choose 
will  be  regarded  by  }*our  son  as  a  trifling  and  unimpor- 
tant accomplishment  in  comparison  with  Greek  and 
Latin,  because  that  is  the  school  estimate ;  and  if  you 
choose  either  Greek  or  Latin  your  scholarship  will  be 
immediately  pitted  against  the  scholarship  of  profes- 
sional teachers  whose  more  recent  and  more  perfect 
methods  will  place  you  in  a  position  of  inferiority, 
instantly  perceived  by  your  pupil,  who  will  estimate  you 
accordingly.  The  only  two  cases  I  have  ever  person- 
ally known  in  which  a  father  taught  the  classical  lan- 
guages failed  in  the  object  of  increasing  the  son's 
affection  and  respect,  because,  although  the  father  had 
been  quite  a  first-rate  scholar  in  his  time,  his  wa}*s  of 
teaching  were  not  so  economical  of  effort  as  are  the 
professional  ways ;  and  the  boys  perceived  that  they 
were  not  taking  the  shortest  cut  to  a  degree. 

If,  to  avoid  this  comparison,  you  choose  something 
outside   the  school  curriculum,  the  boy  will  probably 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  85 

consider  it  an  unfair  addition  to  the  burden  of  his  work. 
His  view  of  education  is  not  your  view.  You  think  it 
a  valuable  training  or  acquirement ;  he  considers  it  all 
task-work,  like  the  making  of  bricks  in  Egypt ;  and  his 
notion  of  justice  is  that  he  ought  not  to  be  compelled 
to  make  more  bricks  than  his  class-fellows,  who  are 
happy  in  having  fathers  too  indolent  or  too  ignorant  to 
trouble  them.  If,  therefore,  you  teach  him  something 
outside  of  what  his  school- fellows  do,  he  does  not  think, 
44 1  get  the  advantage  of  a  wider  education  than  theirs  ;  " 
but  he  thinks,  "  My  father  lays  an  imposition  upon  me, 
and  my  school- fellows  are  lucky  to  escape  it." 

In  some  instances  the  father  chooses  a  modern  lan- 
guage as  the  thing  that  he  will  teach  ;  but  he  finds  that 
as  he  cannot  apply  the  school  discipline  (too  harsh  and 
unpaternal  for  use  at  home),  there  is  a  quiet,  passive 
resistance  that  will  ultimately  defeat  him  unless  he  has 
inexhaustible  patience.  He  decrees,  let  us  suppose, 
that  French  shall  be  spoken  at  table  ;  but  the  chief 
effect  of  his  decree  is  to  reveal  great  and  unsuspected 
powers  of  taciturnity.  Who  could  be  such  a  tyrant  as 
to  find  fault  with  a  boy  because  he  so  modestly  chooses 
to  be  silent  ?  Speech  may  be  of  silver,  but  silence  is 
of  gold,  and  it  is  especially  beautiful  and  becoming  in 
the  young. 

Seeing  that  everything  in  the  way  of  intellectual 
training  is  looked  upon  b}^  boys  as  an  unfair  addition  to 
school- work,  some  fathers  abandon  that  altogether,  and 
try  to  win  influence  over  their  sons  by  initiating  them 
into  sports  and  pastimes.  Just  at  first  these  happy 
projects  appear  to  unite  the  useful  with  the  agreeable  ; 


86  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

but  as  the  youthful  nature  is  much  better  fitted  for 
sports  and  pastimes  than  middle- age  can  pretend  to  be, 
it  follows  that  the  pupil  very  soon  excels  the  master  in 
these  things,  and  quite  gets  the  upper  hand  of  him  and 
offers  him  advice,  or  else  dutifully  (but  with  visible 
constraint)  condescends  to  accommodate  himself  to 
the  elder  man's  inferiority ;  so  that  perhaps  upon  the 
whole  it  may  be  that  sports  and  pastimes  are  not  the 
field  of  exertion  in  which  paternal  authority  is  most 
likely  to  preserve  a  dignified  preponderance. 

It  is  complacently  assumed  by  men  of  fifty  that  over- 
ripe maturity  is  the  superior  of  adolescence ;  but  an 
impartial  balance  of  advantages  shows  that  some  very 
brilliant  ones  are  on  the  side  of  youth.  At  fifty  we 
may  be  wiser,  richer,  more  famous  than  a  clever  boy ; 
but  he  does  not  care  much  for  our  wisdom,  he  thinks 
that  expenses  are  a  matter  of  course,  and  our  little 
rushlights  of  reputations  are  as  nothing  to  the  future 
electric  illumination  of  his  own.  In  bodily  activity  we 
are  to  boyhood  what  a  domestic  cow  is  to  a  wild  ante- 
lope ;  and  as  bo}*s  rightly  attach  an  immense  value  to 
such  activity  they  generally  look  upon  us,  in  their 
secret  thoughts,  as  miserable  old  "muffs."  I  distinctly 
remember,  when  a  boy,  accompan}7ing  a  middle-aged 
gentleman  to  a  country  railwa}7  station.  "We  were  a 
little  late,  and  the  distance  was  long,  but  my  companion 
could  not  be  induced  to  go  beyond  his  regular  pace. 
At  last  we  were  within  half  a  mile,  and  the  steam  of 
the  locomotive  became  visible.  "Now  let  us  run  for 
it,"  I  cried,  "  and  we  shall  catch  the  train!  "  Run?  — 
he  run,  indeed  !  I  might  as  well  have  asked  the  Pope 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  87 

to  run  in  the  streets  of  Rome!  My  friend  kept  in 
silent  solemnity  to  his  own  dignified  method  of  motion, 
and  we  were  left  behind.  To  this  day  I  well  remember 
the  feelings  of  contemptuous  pity  and  disgust  that  filled 
me  as  I  looked  upon  that  most  respectable  gentleman. 
I  said  not  a  word ;  my  demeanor  was  outwardly  deco- 
rous ;  but  in  my  secret  heart  I  despised  my  unequal 
companion  with  the  unmitigated  contempt  of  youth. 

Even  those  physical  exertions  that  elderly  men  are 
equal  to  —  the  ten  miles'  walk,  the  ride  on  a  docile 
hunter,  the  quiet  drive  or  sail  —  are  so  much  below  the 
achievements  of  fiery  3'outh  that  they  bring  us  no  more 
credit  than  sitting  in  a  chair.  Though  our  efforts  seem 
so  respectable  to  ourselves  that  we  take  a  modest  pride 
therein,  a  young  man  can  only  look  upon  them  with 
indulgence. 

In  the  mental  powers  elderly  men  are  inferior  on  the 
very  point  that  a  3'oung  man  looks  to  first.  His  notion 
of  cleverness,  by  which  he  estimates  all  his  comrades, 
is  not  depth  of  thought,  nor  wisdom,  nor  sagacity  ;  it  is 
simply  rapidity  in  learning,  and  there  his  elders  are 
hopelessly  behind  him.  They  may  extend  or  deepen 
an  old  study,  but  they  cannot  attack  a  new  one  with 
the  conquering  spirit  of  youth.  Too  late!  too  late! 
too  late!  is  inscribed,  for  them,  on  a  hundred  gates  of 
knowledge.  The  3'oung  man,  with  his  powers  of  ac- 
quisition urging  him  like  unsatisfied  appetites,  sees  the 
gates  all  open  and  believes  they  are  open  for  him.  He 
believes  all  knowledge  to  be  his  possible  province, 
knowing  not  }'et  the  chilling,  disheartening  truth  that 
life  is  too  short  for  success  in  any  but  a  very  few 


88  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

directions.  Confident  in  his  powers,  the  young  msn 
prepares  himself  for  difficult  examinations,  and  he 
knows  that  we  should  be  incapable  of  the  same  efforts. 

Not  having  succeeded  very  well  with  attempts  to 
create  intercourse  through  studies  and  amusements, 
the  father  next  consoles  himself  with  the  idea  that  he 
will  convert  his  son  into  an  intimate  friend  ;  but  shortly 
discovers  that  there  are  certain  difficulties,  of  which  a 
few  ma}*  be  mentioned  here. 

Although  the  relationship  between  father  and  son  is 
a  very  near  relationship,  it  may  happen  that  there  is  but 
little  likeness  of  inherited  idiosyncrasy,  and  therefore 
that  the  two  maj*  have  different  and  even  opposite 
tastes.  By  the  law  or  accident  of  atavism  a  boy  may 
resemble  one  of  his  grandfathers  or  some  remoter  ances- 
tor, or  he  may  puzzle  theorists  about  heredit}T  by  char- 
acteristics for  which  there  is  no  known  precedent  in  his 
family.  Both  his  mental  instincts  and  processes,  and 
the  conclusions  to  which  the}'  lead  him,  may  be  entirely 
different  from  the  habits  and  conclusions  of  his  father  ; 
and  if  the  father  is  so  utterly  unphilosophical  as  to  sup- 
pose (what  vulgar  fathers  constant!}7  do  suppose)  that 
his  own  mental  habits  and  conclusions  are  the  right 
ones,  and  all  others  wrong,  then  he  will  adopt  a  tone 
of  authority  towards  his  son,  on  certain  occasions, 
which  the  young  man  will  excusably  consider  unbeara- 
able  and  which  he  will  avoid  by  shunning  the  paternal 
society.  Even  a  very  mild  attempt  on  the  father's  part 
to  impose  his  own  tastes  and  opinions  will  be  quietly 
resented  and  felt  as  a  reason  for  avoiding  him,  because 
the  son  is  well  aware  that  he  cannot  argue  on  equal 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  89 

terms  with  a  man  who,  however  amiable  he  chooses  to 
be  for  the  moment,  can  at  any  time  arm  himself  with 
the  formidable  paternal  dignity  by  simply  taking  the 
trouble  to  assume  it. 

The  mere  difference  of  age  is  almost  an  insuperable 
barrier  to  comradeship ;  for  though  a  middle-aged  man 
may  be  cheerful,  his  cheerfulness  is  "as  water  unto 
wine"  in  comparison  with  the  merriment  of  joyous 
youth.  So  exuberant  is  that  youthful  gayety  that  it 
often  needs  to  utter  downright  nonsense  for  the  relief 
of  its  own  high  spirits,  and  feels  oppressed  in  sober 
society  where  nonsense  is  not  permitted.  Any  elderly 
gentleman  who  reads  this  has  only  to  consult  his  own 
recollections,  and  ask  himself  whether  in  j*outh  he  did 
not  often  say  and  do  utterty  irrational  things.  If  he 
never  did,  he  never  was  realty  }roung.  I  hardly  know 
any  author,  except  Shakspeare,  who  has  ventured  to 
reproduce,  in  its  perfect  absurdity,  the  full  flow  of 
3'outhful  nonsense.  The  criticism  of  our  own  age  would 
scarcely  tolerate  it  in  books,  and  might  accuse  the 
author  himself  of  being  silly  ;  but  the  thing  still  exists 
abundantly  in  real  life,  and  the  wonder  is  that  it  is 
sometimes  the  most  intelligent  young  men  who  enjoy 
the  most  witless  nonsense  of  all.  When  we  have  lost 
the  high  spirits  that  gave  it  a  relish,  it  becomes  very 
wearisome  if  prolonged.  Young  men  instinctively 
know  that  we  are  past  the  appreciation  of  it. 

Another  very  important  reason  wh}T  fathers  and  sons 
have  a  difficulty  in  maintaining  close  friendships  is  the 
steady  divergence  of  their  experience. 

In   childhood,    the    father's    knowledge    of   places, 


90  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

people,  and  things  includes  the  child's  knowledge,  as 
a  large  circle  includes  a  little  one  drawn  within  it. 
Afterwards  the  boy  goes  to  school,  and  has  comrades 
and  masters  whom  his  father  does  not  personally  know. 
Later  on,  he  visits  many  places  where  his  father  has 
never  been. 

The  son's  life  may  socially  diverge  so  completely 
from  that  of  the  father  that  he  may  really  come  to 
belong  to  a  different  class  in  society.  His  education, 
habits,  and  associates  may  be  different  from  those  of 
his  father.  If  the  family  is  growing  richer  they  are 
likely  to  be  (in  the  worldry  sense)  of  a  higher  class ; 
if  it  is  becoming  poorer  they  will  probably  be  of  a 
lower  class  than  the  father  was  accustomed  to  in  his 
3'outh.  The  son  may  feel  more  at  ease  than  his  father 
does  in  very  refined  society,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
may  feel  refined  society  to  be  a  restraint,  whilst  he  only 
enjoys  himself  thoroughly  and  heartily  amongst  vulgar 
people  that  his  father  would  carefully  avoid. 

Divergence  is  carried  to  its  utmost  by  difference  of 
professional  training,  and  by  the  professional  habit  of 
seeing  things  that  follows  from  it.  If  a  clergyman  puts 
his  son  into  a  solicitor's  office,  he  need  not  expect  that 
the  son  will  long  retain  those  views  of  the  world  that 
prevail  in  the  country  parsonage  where  he  was  born. 
He  will  acquire  other  views,  other  mental  habits,  and 
he  will  very  soon  believe  himself  to  possess  a  far  greater 
and  more  accurate  knowledge  of  mankind,  and  of  af- 
fairs, than  his  father  ever  possessed. 

Even  if  the  son  is  in  the  father's  own  profession  he 
will  have  new  views  of  it  derived  from  the  time  at 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  91 

which  he  learns  it,  and  he  is  likely  to  consider  his 
father's  ideas  as  not  brought  down  to  the  latest  date. 
He  will  also  have  a  tendency  to  look  to  strangers  as 
greater  authorities  than  his  father,  even  when  they  are 
realty  on  the  same  level,  because  they  are  not  lowered 
in  his  estimate  by  domestic  intimacy  and  familiarity. 
Their  opinion  will  be  especially  valued  by  the  young 
man  if  it  has  to  be  paid  for,  it  being  an  immense  de- 
preciation of  the  paternal  counsel  that  it  is  always 
given  gratuitously. 

If  the  father  has  bestowed  upon  his  son  what  is  con- 
sidered a  " complete"  education,  and  if  he  himself  has 
not  received  the  same  "complete"  education  in  his 
youth,  the  son  is  likely  to  accept  the  conventional  esti- 
mate of  education  because  it  is  in  his  own  favor,  and 
to  estimate  his  father  as  an  "uneducated"  or  a  "  half- 
educated"  man,  without  taking  into  much  account  the 
possibility  that  his  father  may  have  developed  his  fac- 
ulties by  mental  labor  in  other  ways.  The  conven- 
tional division  between  "educated"  and  "uneducated" 
men  is  so  definite  that  it  is  easily  seen.  The  educated 
are  those  who  have  taken  a  degree  at  one  of  the  Uni- 
versities ;  the  rest  are  uneducated,  whatever  may  be 
their  attainments  in  the  sciences,  in  modern  languages, 
or  in  the  fine  arts. 

There  are  differences  of  education  even  more  serious 
than  this,  because  more  real.  A  man  may  be  not  only 
conventionally  uneducated,  but  he  may  be  really  and 
truly  uneducated,  by  which  I  mean  that  his  faculties 
may  never  have  been  drawn  out  by  intellectual  discipline 
of  any  kind  whatever.  It  is  hard  indeed  for  a  well- 


92  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

educated  young  man  to  live  under  the  authority  of  a 
father  of  that  kind,  because  he  has  constantly  to  sup- 
press reasons  and  motives  for  opinions  and  decisions 
that  such  a  father  could  not  possibty  enter  into  or  un- 
derstand. The  relationship  is  equally  hard  for  the 
father,  who  must  be  aware,  with  the  lively  suspicion  of 
the  ignorant,  that  his  son  is  not  telling  him  all  his 
thought  but  only  the  portion  of  it  which  he  thinks  fit 
to  reveal,  and  that  much  more  is  kept  in  reserve.  He 
will  ask,  u  Why  this  reserve  towards  me?  "  and  then  he 
will  either  be  profoundly  hurt  and  grieved  by  it  at  times, 
or  else,  if  of  another  temper,  he  will  be  irritated,  and 
his  irritation  may  find  harsh  utterance  in  words. 

An  educated  man  can  never  rid  himself  of  his  educa- 
tion. His  views  of  the  most  ordinary  things  are  differ- 
ent from  the  views  of  the  uneducated.  If  he  were  to 
express  them  in  his  own  language  they  would  say, 
"Why,  how  he  talks!"  and  consider  him  "a  queer 
chap  ;  "  and  if  he  keeps  them  to  himself  they  say  he  is 
very  "  close"  and  "  shut  up."  There  is  no  way  out  of 
the  dilemma  except  this,  that  kind  and  tender  feelings 
ma}'  exist  between  people  who  have  nothing  in  common 
intellectually,  but  these  are  only  possible  when  all  pre- 
tence to  paternal  authorit}'  is  abandoned. 

Our  forefathers  had  an  idea  with  regard  to  the  opin- 
ions of  their  children  that  in  these  days  we  must  be 
content  to  give  up.  They  thought  that  all  opinions 
were  by  nature  hereditary,  and  it  was  considered  an  act 
of  disloyalt3T  to  ancestors  if  a  descendant  ventured  to 
differ  from  them.  The  profession  of  any  but  the  family 
opinions  was  so  rare  as  to  be  almost  inconceivable  ;  and 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  93 

if  in  some  great  crisis  the  head  of  a  family  took  a  new 
departure  in  religion  or  politics  the  new  faith  substituted 
itself  for  the  old  one  as  the  hereditary  faith  of  the  family. 
I  remember  hearing  an  old  gentleman  (who  represented 
old  English  feeling  in  great  perfection)  say  that  it  was 
totally  unintelligible  to  him  that  a  certain  Member  of 
Parliament  could  sit  on  the  Liberal  side  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  "  I  cannot  understand  it,"  he  said;  "  I  knew 
his  father  intimately,  and  he  was  always  a  good  Tory." 
The  idea  that  the  son  might  have  opinions  of  his  own 
was  unthinkable. 

In  our  time  we  are  beginning  to  perceive  that  opin- 
ions cannot  be  imposed,  and  that  the  utmost  that  can  be 
obtained  by  brow-beating  a  son  who  differs  from  our- 
selves is  that  he  shall  make  false  professions  to  satisfy 
us.  Paternal  influence  may  be  better  employed  than 
in  encouraging  habits  of  dissimulation. 

M.  Legouve  attaches  great  importance  to  the  relig- 
ious question  as  a  cause  of  division  between  fathers 
and  sons  because  in  the  present  day  young  men  so  fre- 
quently imbibe  opinions  which  are  not  those  of  their 
parents.  It  is  not  uncommon,  in  France,  for  Catholic 
parents  to  have  unbelieving  sons ;  and  the  converse  is 
also  seen,  but  more  frequently  in  the  case  of  daughters. 
As  opinions  are  ver}T  freely  expressed  in  France  (except 
where  external  conformity  is  an  affair  of  caste),  we  find 
many  families  in  which  Catholicism  and  Agnosticism 
have  each  their  open  and  convinced  adherents ;  yet 
family  affection  does  not  appear  to  suffer  from  the  dif- 
ference, or  is,  at  least,  powerful  enough  to  overcome  it. 
In  old  times  this  would  have  been  impossible.  The 


94  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

father  would  have  resented  a  difference  of  opinion  in  the 
son  as  an  offence  against  himself. 

A  very  common  cause  of  division  between  father  and 
son,  in  old  times,  was  the  following. 

The  father  expressed  a  desire  of  some  kind,  mildly 
and  kindly  perhaps,  yet  with  the  full  expectation  that 
it  should  be  attended  to;  but  the  desire  was  of  an 
exorbitant  nature,  in  this  sense,  that  it  involved  some- 
thing that  would  affect  the  whole  course  of  the  young 
man's  future  life  in  a  manner  contrar}'  to  his  natural 
instincts.  The  father  was  then  grievously  hurt  and 
offended  because  the  son  did  not  see  his  way  to  the 
fulfilment  of  the  paternal  desire. 

The  strongest  cases  of  this  kind  were  in  relation  to 
profession  and  marriage.  The  father  wished  his  son 
to  enter  into  some  trade  or  profession  for  which  he  was 
completely  unsuited,  or  he  desired  him  to  many  some 
young  lady  for  whom  he  had  not  the  slightest  natural 
affinity.  The  son  felt  the  inherent  difficulties  and  re- 
fused. Then  the  father  thought,  "  I  only  ask  of  my  son 
this  one  simple  thing,  and  he  denies  me." 

In  these  cases  the  father  was  not  asking  for  one 
thing,  but  for  thousands  of  things.  He  was  asking  his 
son  to  undertake  many  thousands  of  separate  obliga- 
tions, succeeding  each  other  till  the  far-distant  date  of 
his  retirement  from  the  distasteful  profession,  or  his 
release,  by  his  own  death  or  hers,  from  the  tedious 
companionship  of  the  unloved  wife.  Sometimes  the 
concession  would  have  involved  a  long  series  of  hypoc- 
risies, as  for  example  when  a  son  was  asked  to  take 
holy  orders,  though  with  little  faith  and  no  vocation. 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  95 

Peter  the  Great  is  the  most  conspicuous  example  in 
history  of  a  father  whose  idiosyncrasy  was  not  con- 
tinued in  his  son,  and  who  could  not  understand  or  tol- 
erate the  separateness  of  his  son's  personalit}'.  They 
were  not  only  of  independent,  but  even  of  opposite 
natures.  "  Peter  was  active,  curious,  and  energetic. 
Alexis  was  contemplative  and  reflective.  He  was  not 
without  intellectual  ability,  but  he  liked  a  quiet  life. 
He  preferred  reading  and  thinking.  At  the  age  when 
Peter  was  making  fireworks,  building  boats,  and  exer- 
cising his  comrades  in  mimic  war,  Alexis  was  ponder- 
ing over  the  c  Divine  Manna,'  reading  the  '  Wonders 
of  God/  reflecting  on  Thomas  a  Kempis's  'Imitation 
of  Christ,'  and  making  excerpts  from  Baronius.  While 
it  sometimes  seemed  as  if  Peter  was  born  too  soon  for 
the  age,  Alexis  was  born  too  late.  He  belonged  to  the 
past  generation.  Not  only  did  he  take  no  interest  in 
the  work  and  plans  of  his  father,  but  he  gradually  came 
to  dislike  and  hate  them.  ...  He  would  sometimes 
even  take  medicine  to  make  himself  ill,  so  that  he 
might  not  be  called  upon  to  perform  duties  or  to  attend 
to  business.  Once,  when  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  the 
launch  of  a  ship,  he  said  to  a  friend,  '  I  would  rather 
be  a  galley-slave,  or  have  a  burning  fever,  than  be 
obliged  to  go  there.' "  1 

In  this  case  one  is  sorry  for  both  father  and  son. 
Peter  was  a  great  intelligent  barbarian  of  immense 
muscular  strength  and  rude  cerebral  energy.  Alexis 
was  of  the  material  from  which  civilization  makes 
priests  and  students,  or  quiet  conventional  kings,  but 
1  Sclmyler's  "  Peter  the  Great." 


96  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

he  was  even  more  unlike  Peter  than  gentle  Richard 
Cromwell  was  unlike  authoritative  Oliver.  The  dis- 
appointment to  Peter,  firmly  convinced,  as  all  rude 
natures  are,  of  the  perfection  of  his  own  personality, 
and  probably  quite  unable  to  appreciate  a  personality 
of  another  type,  must  have  been  the  more  bitter  that 
his  great  plans  for  the  future  required  a  vigorous,  prac- 
tically minded  innovator  like  himself.  At  length  the 
difference  of  nature  so  exasperated  the  Autocrat  that 
he  had  his  son  three  times  tortured,  the  third  time  in  his 
own  presence  and  with  a  fatal  result.  This  terrible  inci- 
dent is  the  strongest  expression  known  to  us  of  a  father's 
vexation  because  his  son  was  not  of  his  own  kind. 

Another  painful  case  that  will  be  long  remembered, 
though  the  character  of  the  father  is  less  known  to  us, 
is  that  of  the  poet  Shelley  and  Sir  Timothy.  The  little 
that  we  do  know  amounts  to  this,  that  there  was  a 
total  absence  of  sympathy.  Sir  Timothy  committed 
the  very  greatest  of  paternal  mistakes  in  depriving 
himself  of  the  means  of  direct  influence  over  his  son 
by  excluding  him  from  his  own  home.  Considering 
that  the  supreme  grief  of  unhappy  fathers  is  the  feeble- 
ness of  their  influence  over  their  sons,  they  can  but 
confirm  and  complete  their  sorrow  by  annihilating  that 
influence  utterly  and  depriving  themselves  of  all  chance 
of  recovering  and  increasing  it  in  the  future.  This  Sir 
Timothy  did  after  the  expulsion  from  Oxford.  In  his 
position,  a  father  possessing  some  skill  and  tact  in  the 
management  of  young  men  at  the  most  difficult  and 
wayward  period  of  their  lives  would  have  determined 
above  all  things  to  keep  his  son  as  much  as  possible 


FATHERS  AND  SONS.  97 

within  the  range  of  his  own  control.  Although  Shelley 
afterwards  returned  to  Field  Place  for  a  short  time,  the 
scission  had  been  made  ;  there  was  an  end  of  real  inter- 
course between  father  and  son  ;  the  poet  went  his  own 
waj',  married  Harriett  Westbrook,  and  lived  through 
the  rest  of  his  short,  unsatisfactory  existence  as  a  home- 
less, wandering  declasse. 

This  Essay  has  hitherto  run  upon  the  discouraging 
side  of  the  subject,  so  that  it  ought  not  to  end  without 
the  happier  and  more  hopeful  considerations. 

Every  personality  is  separate  from  others,  and  ex- 
pects its  separateness  to  be  acknowledged.  When  a 
son  avoids  his  father  it  is  because  he  fears  that  the 
rights  of  his  own  personality  will  be  disregarded. 
There  are  fathers  who  habituall}7  treat  their  sons  with 
sneering  contempt.  I  have  myself  seen  a  young  man 
of  fair  common  abilities  treated  with  constant  and  un- 
disguised contempt  by  a  clever,  sardonic  father  who 
went  so  far  as  to  make  brutal  allusions  to  the  shape 
of  the  young  man's  skull !  He  bore  this  treatment 
with  admirable  patience  and  unfailing  gentleness,  but 
suffered  from  it  silently.  Another  used  to  laugh  at  his 
son,  and  called  him  "Don  Quixote"  whenever  the  lad 
gave  expression  to  some  sentiment  above  the  low  Phil- 
istine level.  A  third,  whom  I  knew  well,  had  a  dis- 
agreeable way  of  putting  down  his  son  because  he  was 
young,  telling  him  that  up  to  the  age  of  forty  a  man 
u  might  have  impressions,  but  could  not  possibly  have 
opinions."  *'  My  father,"  said  a  kind-hearted  English 
gentleman  to  me,  "  was  the  most  thoroughly  unbearable 
person  I  ever  met  with  in  my  life.'* 

7 


98  FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

The  frank  recognition  of  separate  personality,  with 
all  its  rights,  would  stop  this  brutality  at  once.  There 
still  remains  the  legitimate  power  of  the  father,  which 
he  ought  not  to  abdicate,  and  which  is  of  itself  enough 
to  prevent  the  freedom  and  equality  necessarjr  to  per- 
fect friendship.  This  reason,  and  the  difference  of  age 
and  habits,  make  it  impossible  that  young  men  and 
their  fathers  should  be  comrades ;  but  a  relation  may 
be  established  between  them  which,  if  rightly  under- 
stood, is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  in  human  existence. 

To  be  satisfactory  it  must  be  founded,  on  the  father's 
side,  on  the  idea  that  he  is  repaying  to  posterity  what 
he  has  received  from  his  own  parents,  and  not  on  any 
selfish  hope  that  the  descending  stream  of  benefit  will 
flow  upwards  again  to  him.  Then  he  must  not  count 
upon  affection,  nor  lay  himself  out  to  win  it,  nor  be 
timidly  afraid  of  losing  it,  but  found  his  influence  upon 
the  firmer  ground  of  respect,  and  be  determined  to  de- 
serve and  have  that,  along  with  as  much  unforced  affec- 
tion as  the  son  is  able  naturally  and  easily  to  give.  It  is 
not  desirable  that  the  affection  between  father  and  son 
should  be  so  tender,  on  either  side,  as  to  make  separa- 
tion a  constant  pain,  for  such  is  human  destiny  that  the 
two  are  generally  fated  to  see  but  little  of  each  other. 

The  best  satisfaction  for  a  father  is  to  deserve  and 
receive  loyal  and  unfailing  respect  from  his  son. 

No,  this  is  not  quite  the  best,  not  quite  the  supreme 
satisfaction  of  paternity.  Shall  I  reveal  the  secret  that 
lies  in  silence  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  hearts  of  all 
worthy  and  honorable  fathers  ?  Their  profoundest  hap- 
piness is  to  be  able  themselves  to  respect  their  sons. 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  99 


ESSAY    VII. 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  GUEST. 

TF  hospitality  were  always  perfectly  practised  it  would 
•^  be  the  strongest  of  all  influences  in  favor  of  ra- 
tional liberty,  because  the  host  would  learn  to  respect 
it  in  the  persons  of  his  guests,  and  thence,  by  exten- 
sion of  habit,  amongst  others  who  could  never  be  his 
guests. 

Hospitality  educates  us  in  respect  for  the  rights  of 
others.  This  is  the  substantial  benefit  that  the  host 
ought  to  derive  from  his  trouble  and  his  outlay,  but  the 
instincts  of  uncivilized  human  nature  are  so  powerful 
that  this  education  has  usually  been  partial  and  incom- 
plete. The  best  part  of  it  has  been  systematically 
evaded,  in  this  way.  People  were  aware  that  tolerance 
and  forbearance  ought  to  be  exercised  towards  guests, 
and  so,  to  avoid  the  hard  necessity  of  exercising  these 
qualities  when  they  were  really  difficult  virtues,  they 
practised  what  is  called  exclusiveness.  In  other  words, 
they  accepted  as  guests  only  those  who  agreed  with 
their  own  opinions  and  belonged  to  their  own  class. 
By  this  arrangement  they  could  be  both  hospitable  and 
intolerant  at  the  same  time. 

If,  in  our  day,  the  barrier  of  exclusiveness  has  been 
in  many  places  broken  down,  there  is  all  the  greater 
need  for  us  to  remember  the  true  principle  of  hospital- 


100  THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST. 

ity.  It  might  be  forgotten  with  little  inconvenience  in 
a  very  exclusive  society,  but  if  it  were  forgotten  in  a 
society  that  is  not  exclusive  the  consequences  would  be 
exactly  the  opposite  of  what  every  friend  of  civilization 
most  earnestly  desires.  Social  intercourse,  in  that  case, 
so  far  from  being  an  education  in  respect  for  the  rights 
of  others,  would  be  an  opportunity  for  violating  them. 
The  violation  might  become  habitual ;  and  if  it  were  so 
this  strange  result  would  follow,  that  society  would  not 
be  a  softening  and  civilizing  influence,  but  the  contrar}^ 
It  would  accustom  people  to  treat  each  other  with 
disregard,  so  that  men  would  be  hardened  and  brutal- 
ized by  it  as  schoolboys  are  made  ruder  by  the  rough 
habits  of  the  pla3'ground,  and  urbanity  would  not 
be  cultivated  in  cities,  but  preserved,  if  at  all,  in 
solitude. 

The  two  views  concerning  the  rights  of  the  guest  may 
be  stated  briefly  as  follows  :  — 

1 .  The  guest  is  bound  to  conform  in  all  things  to  the 
tastes  and  customs  of  his  host.     He  ought  to  find  or 
feign  enjoyment  in    everything   that  his  host  imposes 
upon  him  ;  and  if  he  is  unwilling  to  do  this  in  every 
particular  it  is  a  breach  of  good  manners  on  his  part, 
and  he  must  be  made  to  suffer  for  it. 

2.  The  guest  should  be  left  to  be  happy  in  his  own 
way,  and  the  business  of  the  host  is  to  arrange  things 
in  such  a  manner  that  each  guest  may  enjoy  as  much 
as  possible  his  own  peculiar  kind  of  happiness. 

When  the  first  principle  was  applied  in  all  its  rigor, 
as  it  often  used  to  be  applied,  and  as  I  have  myself 
seen  it  applied,  the  sensation  experienced  by  the  guest 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  101 

on  going  to  stay  in  certain  houses  was  that  of  entirety 
losing  the  direction  of  himself.  He  was  not  even 
allowed,  in  the  middle  classes,  to  have  any  control  over 
his  own  inside,  but  had  to  eat  what  his  host  ordered 
him  to  eat,  and  to  drink  the  quantity  of  wine  and  spirits 
that  his  host  had  decided  to  be  good  for  him.  Resist- 
ance to  these  dictates  was  taken  as  an  offence,  as  a 
crime  against  good  fellowship,  or  as  a  reflection  on  the 
quality  of  the  good  things  provided ;  and  conversation 
paused  whilst  the  attention  of  the  whole  company  was 
attracted  to  the  recalcitrant  guest,  who  was  intention- 
ally placed  in  a  situation  of  extreme  anno}rance  and 
discomfort  in  order  to  compel  him  to  obedience.  The 
victim  was  perhaps  half  an  invalid,  or  at  least  a  man 
who  could  only  keep  well  and  happy  on  condition  of 
observing  a  certain  strictness  of  regimen.  He  was 
then  laughed  at  for  idle  fears  about  his  health,  told  that 
he  was  a  hypochondriac,  and  recommended  to  drink  a 
bottle  of  port  every  day  to  get  rid  of  such  idle  non- 
sense. If  he  declined  to  eat  twice  or  three  times  as 
much  as  he  desired,  the  hostess  expressed  her  bitter 
regret  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  provide  food  and 
cookery  to  his  taste,  thus  placing  him  in  such  a  position 
that  he  must  either  eat  more  or  seem  to  condemn  her 
arrangements.  It  was  very  common  amongst  old- 
fashioned  French  bourgeois  in  the  last  generation  for 
the  hostess  herself  to  heap  things  on  the  guest's  plate, 
and  to  prevent  this  her  poor  persecuted  neighbor  had 
to  remove  the  plate  or  turn  it  upside  down.  The 
whole  habit  of  pressing  was  dictated  by  selfish  feeling 
in  the  hosts.  They  desired  to  see  their  guests  devour 


102  THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST. 

voraciously,  in  order  that  their  own  vanity  might  be 
gratified  by  the  seeming  appreciation  of  their  things. 
Temperate  men  were  disliked  by  a  generation  of  topers 
because  their  temperance  had  the  appearance  of  a  silent 
protest  or  censure.  The  discomfort  inflicted  by  these 
odious  usages  was  so  great  that  many  people  either 
injured  their  health  in  society  or  kept  out  of  it  in  self- 
defence,  though  they  were  not  sulky  and  unsociable  by 
nature,  but  would  have  been  hearty  lovers  of  human 
intercourse  if  they  could  have  enjo}'ed  it  on  less  unac- 
ceptable terms. 

The  wholesome  modern  reaction  against  these  dread- 
ful old  customs  has  led  some  hosts  into  another  error. 
They  sometimes  fail  to  understand  the  great  principle 
that  it  is  the  guest  alone  who  ought  to  be  the  judge 
of  the  quantity  that  he  shall  eat  and  drink.  The 
old  pressing  hospitality  assumed  that  the  guest  was  a 
child,  too  shame-faced  to  take  what  it  longed  for  unless 
it  was  vigorous^  encouraged  ;  but  the  new  hospitality, 
if  indeed  it  still  in  every  case  deserves  that  honored 
name,  does  really  sometimes  appear  to  assume  (I  do 
not  say  always,  or  often,  but  in  extreme  cases)  that 
the  guest  is  a  fool,  who  would  eat  and  drink  more  than 
is  good  for  him  if  he  were  not  carefully  rationed.  Such 
hosts  forget  that  excess  is  quite  a  relative  term,  that 
each  constitution  has  its  own  needs.  Beyond  this,  it 
is  well  known  that  the  exhilaration  of  social  intercourse 
enables  people  who  meet  convivially  to  digest  and 
assimilate,  without  fatigue,  a  larger  amount  of  nutri- 
ment than  they  could  in  dull  and  perhaps  dejected 
solitude.  Hence  it  is  a  natural  and  long-established 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  103 

habit  to  eat  and  drink  more  when  in  company  than 
alone,  and  the  guest  should  have  the  possibility  of 
conforming  to  this  not  irrational  old  custom  until,  in 
Homer's  phrase,  he  has  "put  from  him  the  desire  of 
meat  and  drink." 

Guests  have  no  right  whatever  to  require  that  the 
host  should  himself  eat  and  drink  to  keep  them  in 
countenance.  There  used  to  be  a  belief  (it  lingers  still 
in  the  middle  classes  and  in  country  places)  that  the 
laws  of  hospitality  required  the  host  to  set  what  was 
considered  "  a  good  example,"  or,  in  other  words,  to 
commit  excesses  himself  that  his  friends  might  not 
be  too  much  ashamed  of  theirs.  It  is  said  that  the 
Emperor  William  of  Germany  never  eats  in  public  at 
all,  but  sits  out  every  banquet  before  an  empty  plate. 
This,  though  quite  excusable  in  an  old  gentleman, 
obliged  to  live  by  rule,  must  have  rather  a  chilling 
effect ;  and  yet  I  like  it  as  a  declaration  of  the  one 
great  principle  that  no  person  at  table,  be  he  host  or 
guest,  ought  to  be  compelled  to  inflict  the  very  slightest 
injur}"  upon  his  own  health,  or  even  comfort.  The  ra- 
tional and  civilized  idea  is  that  food  and  wines  are 
simply  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  people  present  to 
be  used,  or  abstained  from,  as  they  please. 

It  is  clear  that  every  invited  guest  has  a  right  to 
expect  some  slight  appearance  of  festivity  in  his  honor. 
In  coarse  and  barbarous  times  the  idea  of  festivity  is 
invariably  expressed  b}7  abundance,  especially  by  vast 
quantities  of  butcher's  meat  and  wine,  as  we  always 
find  it  in  Homer,  where  princes  and  gentlemen  stuff 
themselves  like  savages  ;  but  in  refined  times  the  notion 


104  THE  RIGHTS  OF   THE   GUEST. 

of  quantity  has  lost  its  attraction,  and  that  of  elegance 
takes  its  place.  In  a  highly  civilized  society  nothing 
conveys  so  much  the  idea  of  festivity  as  plenty  of 
light  and  flowers,  with  beautiful  table-linen  and  plate 
and  glass.  These,  with  some  extra  delicacy  in  cook- 
ery and  wines,  are  our  modern  way  of  expressing 
welcome. 

There  is  a  certain  kind  of  hospitality  in  which  the 
host  visibly  declines  to  make  any  effort  either  of  trouble 
or  expense,  but  plainly  shows  by  his  negligence  that 
he  only  tolerates  the  guest.  All  that  can  be  said  of 
such  hospitality  as  this  is  that  a  guest  who  respects 
himself  may  endure  it  silently  for  once,  but  would  not 
be  likely  to  expose  himself  to  it  a  second  time. 

There  is  even  a  kind  of  hospitality  which  seems  to 
find  a  satisfaction  in  letting  the  guest  perceive  that  the 
best  in  the  house  is  not  offered  to  him.  He  is  lodged 
in  a  poor  little  room,  when  there  are  noble  bedchambers, 
unused,  in  the  same  house ;  or  he  is  allowed  to  hire 
a  vehicle  in  the  village,  to  make  some  excursion,  when 
there  are  horses  in  the  stables  plethoric  from  want  of 
exercise.  In  cases  of  this  kind  it  is  not  the  privation 
of  luxury  that  is  hard  to  bear,  but  the  indisposition  to 
give  honor.  The  guest  feels  and  knows  that  if  a  per- 
son of  very  high  rank  came  to  the  house  everything 
would  be  put  at  his  disposal,  and  he  resents  the  slight 
put  upon  his  own  condition.  A  rich  English  lady, 
long  since  dead,  had  a  large  mansion  in  the  countiy 
with  fine  bedrooms  ;  so  she  found  a  pleasure  in  keeping 
those  rooms  empty  and  sending  guests  to  sleep  at  the 
top  of  the  house  in  little  bare  and  comfortless  chambers 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  105 

that  the  architect  had  intended  for  servants.  I  have 
heard  of  a  French  house  where  there  are  fine  state 
apartments,  and  where  all  ordinary  guests  are  poorly 
lodged,  and  fed  in  a  miserable  salle  a  manger.  An 
aggravation  is  when  the  host  treats  himself  better  than 
his  guest.  Lady  B.  invited  some  friends  to  a  country- 
house  ;  and  they  drove  to  another  country-house  in  the 
neighborhood  in  two  carriages,  one  containing  Lady  B. 
and  one  friend,  the  other  the  remaining  guests.  Her 
ladyship  was  timid  and  rather  selfish,  as  timid  people 
often  are ;  so  when  they  reached  the  avenue  she  began 
to  fancy  that  both  carriages  could  not  safely  turn  in  the 
garden,  and  she  despatched  her  footman  to  the  second 
carriage,  with  orders  that  her  guests  (amongst  whom 
was  a  lady  very  near  her  confinement)  were  to  get 
out  and  walk  to  the  house,  whilst  she  drove  up  to  the 
door  in  state. 

A  guest  has  an  absolute  right  to  have  his  religious 
and  political  opinions  respected  in  his  presence,  and 
this  is  not  invariably  done.  The  rule  more  generally 
followed  seems  to  be  that  class  opinions  onl}T  deserve 
respect  and  not  individual  opinions.  The  question  is 
too  large  to  be  treated  in  a  paragraph,  but  I  should  say 
that  it  is  a  clear  breach  of  hospitality  to  utter  anything 
in  disparagement  of  any  opinion  whatever  that  is  known 
to  be  held  by  any  one  guest  present,  however  humble 
may  be  his  rank.  I  have  sometimes  seen  the  known 
opinions  of  a  guest  attacked  rudely  and  directly,  but 
the  more  civilized  method  is  to  do  it  more  artfully 
through  some  other  person  who  is  not  present.  For 
example,  a  guest  is  known  to  think,  on  important 


106  THE  RIGHTS   OF  THE   GUEST. 

subjects,  very  much  as  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  does  ;  then 
the  host  will  contrive  to  talk  at  him  in  talking  about 
Spencer.  A  guest  ought  not  to  bear  this  ungenerous 
kind  of  attack.  If  such  an  occasion  arises  he  should 
declare  his  opinions  plainly  and  with  firmness,  and 
show  his  determination  to  have  them  respected  whilst 
he  is  there,  whatever  may  be  said  against  them  in  his 
absence.  If  he  cannot  obtain  this  degree  of  courtesy, 
which  is  his  right,  let  him  quit  the  house  and  satisfy  his 
hunger  at  some  inn.  The  innkeeper  will  ask  for  a  little 
money,  but  he  demands  no  mental  submission. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  the  nationality  of  a  foreign 
guest  is  not  respected  as  it  ought  to  be.  I  remember 
an  example  of  this  which  is  moderate  enough  to  serve 
as  a  kind  of  t3Tpe,  some  attacks  upon  nationality  being 
much  more  direct  and  outrageous.  An  English  lady 
said  at  her  own  table  that  she  would  not  allow  her 
daughter  to  be  partially  educated  in  a  French  school, 
4 'because  she  would  have  to  associate  with  French  girls, 
which,  you  know,  is  undesirable."  Amongst  the  guests 
was  a  French  lad}7,  and  the  observation  was  loud  enough 
for  everybody  to  hear  it.  I  say  nothing  of  the  injustice 
of  the  imputation.  It  was,  indeed,  most  unjust,  but 
that  is  not  the  point.  The  point  is  that  a  foreigner 
ought  not  to  hear  attacks  upon  his  native  land  even 
when  they  are  perfectty  well  founded. 

The  host  has  a  sort  of  judicial  function  in  this  way. 
The  guest  has  a  right  to  look  to  him  for  protection  on 
certain  occasions,  and  he  is  likely  to  be  profoundly 
grateful  when  it  is  given  with  tact  and  skill,  because 
the  host  can  say  things  for  him  that  he  cannot  even 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  107 

hint  at  for  himself.  Suppose  the  case  of  a  young  man 
who  is  treated  with  easy  and  rather  contemptuous  famil- 
iarity by  another  guest,  simply  on  account  of  his  youth. 
He  is  nettled  by  the  offence,  but  as  it  is  more  in  manner 
than  in  words  he  cannot  fix  upon  anything  to  answer. 
The  host  perceives  his  annoyance,  and  kindly  gives  him 
some  degree  of  importance  by  alluding  to  some  superi- 
ority of  his,  and  by  treating  him  in  a  manner  very 
different  from  that  which  had  vexed  him. 

A  witty  host  is  the  most  powerful  ally  against  an 
aggressor.  I  remember  dining  in  a  very  well-known 
house  in  Paris  where  a  celebrated  Frenchman  repeated 
the  absurd  old  French  calumny  against  English  ladies, 
• — that  they  all  drink.  I  was  going  to  resent  this  seri- 
ously when  a  clever  Frenchwoman  (who  knew  England 
well)  perceived  the  danger,  and  answered  the  man  her- 
self with  great  decision  and  ability.  I  then  watched 
for  the  first  opportunity  of  making  him  ridiculous,  and 
seized  upon  a  very  delightful  one  that  he  unwittingly 
offered.  Our  host  at  once  understood  that  my  attack 
was  in  revenge  for  an  aggression  that  had  been  in  bad 
taste,  and  he  supported  me  with  a  wit  and  pertinacity 
that  produced  general  merriment  at  the  enemy's  expense. 
Now  in  that  case  I  should  say  that  the  host  was  filling 
one  of  the  most  important  and  most  difficult  functions 
of  a  host. 

This  Essay  has  hitherto  been  written  almost  entirely 
on  the  guest's  side  of  the  question,  so  that  we  have 
still  briefly  to  consider  the  limitations  to  his  rights. 

He  has  no  right  to  impose  any  serious  inconvenience 
upon  his  host.  He  has  no  right  to  disturb  the  ordinary 


108  THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST. 

arrangements  of  the  house,  or  to  inflict  any  serious 
pecuniary  cost,  or  to  occupy  the  host's  time  to  the 
prejudice  of  his  usual  pursuits.  He  has  no  right  to 
intrude  upon  the  privacy  of  his  host. 

A  guest  has  no  right  to  place  the  host  in  such  a 
dilemma  that  he  must  either  commit  a  rudeness  or  put 
up  with  an  imposition.  The  very  courtesy  of  an  enter- 
tainer places  him  at  the  mercy  of  a  pushing  and  unscru- 
pulous guest,  and  it  is  only  when  the  provocation  has 
reached  such  a  point  as  to  have  become  perfectly  in- 
tolerable that  a  host  will  do  anything  so  painful  to 
himself  as  to  abandon  his  hospitable  character  and 
make  the  guest  understand  that  he  must  go. 

It  may  be  said  that  difficulties  of  this  kind  never 
occur  in  civilized  society.  No  doubt  they  are  rare,  but 
they  happen  just  sufficiently  often  to  make  it  necessary 
to  be  prepared  for  them.  Suppose  the  case  of  a  guest 
who  exceeds  his  invitation.  He  has  been  invited  for 
two  nights,  plainly  and  definitely ;  but  he  stays  a  third, 
fourth,  fifth,  and  seems  as  if  he  would  stay  forever. 
There  are  men  of  that  kind  in  the  world,  and  it  is  one 
of  their  arts  to  disarm  their  victims  by  pleasantness,  so 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  be  firm  with  them.  The  lady  of 
the  house  gives  a  gentle  hint,  the  master  follows  with 
broader  hints,  but  the  intruder  is  quite  impervious  to 
any  but  the  very  plainest  language.  At  last  the  host 
has  to  sajT,  "  Your  train  leaves  at  such  an  hour,  and  the 
carriage  will  be  ready  to  take  you  to  the  station  half 
an  hour  earlier."  This,  at  any  rate,  is  intelligible ; 
and  yet  I  have  known  one  of  those  clinging  limpets 
whom  even  this  proceeding  failed  to  dislodge.  At  the 


THE  RIGHTS   OF   THE   GUEST.  109 

approach  of  the  appointed  hour  he  was  nowhere  to  be 
found !  He  had  gone  to  hide  himself  in  a  wood  with 
no  companion  but  his  watch,  and  b}T  its  help  he  took 
care  to  return  when  it  was  too  late.  That  is  some- 
times one  of  the  great  uses  of  a  watch. 


110  THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


ESSAY    VIII 

THE  DEATH   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

\  SAD  subject,  but  worth  analysis  ;  for  if  friendship 
*^-  is  of  any  value  to  us  whilst  it  is  alive,  is  it  not 
worth  while  to  inquire  if  there  are  an}7  means  of  keeping 
it  alive? 

The  word  "death"  is  correctly  employed  here,  for 
nobody  has  discovered  the  means  by  which  a  dead 
friendship  can  be  resuscitated.  To  hope  for  that  would 
be  vain  indeed,  and  idle  the  waste  of  thought  in  such 
a  bootless  quest. 

Shall  we  mourn  over  this  death  without  hope,  this 
blank  annihilation,  this  finis  of  intercourse  once  so 
sweet,  this  dreary  and  ultimate  conclusion  ? 

The  death  of  a  friendship  is  not  the  death  of  a  per- 
son ;  we  do  not  mourn  for  the  absence  of  some  beloved 
person  from  the  world.  It  is  simply  the  termination 
of  a  certain  degree  and  kind  of  intercourse,  not  of 
necesshty  the  termination  of  all  intercourse.  We  may 
be  grieved  that  the  change  has  come ;  we  may  be  re- 
morseful if  it  has  come  through  a  fault  of  our  own ;  but 
if  it  is  due  simply  to  natural  causes  there  is  small  place 
for  any  reasonable  sorrow. 

Friendship  is  a  certain  rapport  between  two  minds 
during  one  or  more  phases  of  their  existence,  and  the 
perfection  of  it  is  quite  as  dependent  upon  what  is  not 


THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  Ill 

in  the  two  minds  as  upon  their  positive  acquirements 
and  possessions.  Hence  the  extreme  facility  with 
which  schoolboys  form  friendships  which,  for  the  time, 
are  real,  true,  and  delightful.  School  friendships  are 
formed  so  easily  because  boys  in  the  same  class  know 
the  same  things  ;  and  it  rarely  happens  that  in  addition 
to  what  they  have  in  common  either  one  party  or  the 
other  has  any  knowledge  of  importance  that  is  not 
in  common. 

Later  in  life  the  pair  of  friends  who  were  once  com- 
rades go  into  different  professions  that  fill  the  mind 
with  special  professional  ideas  and  induce  different 
habits  of  thought.  Each  will  be  conscious,  when  they 
meet,  that  there  is  a  great  range  of  ideas  in  the  other's 
mind  from  which  he  is  excluded,  and  each  will  have  a 
difficulty  in  keeping  within  the  smaller  range  of  ideas 
that  they  have  now  in  common ;  so  that  they  will  no 
longer  be  able  to  let  their  whole  minds  play  together  as 
they  used  to  do,  and  they  will  probably  feel  more  at 
ease  with  mere  acquaintances  who  have  what  is  now 
their  knowledge,  what  are  now  their  mental  habits, 
than  with  the  friend  of  their  boyhood  who  is  without 
them. 

This  is  strongly  felt  by  men  who  go  through  a  large 
experience  at  a  distance  from  their  early  home  and  then 
return  for  a  while  to  the  old  place  and  old  associates, 
and  find  that  it  is  only  a  part  of  themselves  that  is 
acceptable.  New  growths  of  self  have  taken  place  in 
distant  regions,  by  travel,  by  study,  by  intercourse 
with  mankind ;  and  these  new  growths,  though  they 
may  be  more  valuable  than  any  others,  are  of  no 


112  THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

practical  use,  of  no  social  availableness,  in  the  little 
circle  that  has  remained  in  the  old  ways. 

Then  there  are  changes  of  temper  that  result  from 
the  fixing  of  the  character  by  time.  We  think  we  re- 
main the  same,  but  that  is  one  of  our  many  illusions. 
We  change,  and  we  do  not  always  change  in  the  sume 
way.  One  man  becomes  mellowed  by  advancing  years, 
but  another  is  hardened  by  them ;  one  man's  temper 
gains  in  sweetness  and  serenity  as  his  intellect  gains 
in  light,  another  becomes  dogmatic,  peremptory,  and 
bitter.  Even  when  the  change  is  the  same  for  both,  it 
may  be  unfavorable  to  their  intercourse.  Two  merry 
young  hearts  may  enjoy  each  other's  company,  when 
they  would  find  each  other  dull  and  flat  if  the  sparkle 
of  the  early  effervescence  were  all  spent. 

I  have  not  yet  touched  upon  change  of  opinion  as  a 
cause  of  the  death  of  friendship,  but  it  is  one  of  the 
most  common  causes.  It  would  be  a  calumn}^  on  the 
intelligence  of  the  better  part  of  mankind  to  say  that 
they  always  desire  to  hear  repeated  exactly  what  they 
say  themselves,  though  that  is  really  the  desire  of  the 
unintelligent ;  but  the  cleverest  people  like  to  hear  new 
and  additional  reasons  in  support  of  the  opinions  they 
hold  already ;  and  they  do  not  like  to  hear  reasons, 
hitherto  unsuspected,  that  go  to  the  support  of  opin- 
ions different  from  their  own.  Therefore  a  slow  diver- 
gence of  opinion  ma}r  carry  two  friends  farther  and 
farther  apart  by  narrowing  the  subjects  of  their  inter- 
course, or  a  sudden  intellectual  revolution  in  one  of 
them  may  effect  an  immediate  and  irreparable  breach. 

4 'If  the  character  is  formed,"  says  Stuart  Mill,  "and 


THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  113 

the  mind  made  up  on  the  few  cardinal  points  of  human 
opinion,  agreement  of  conviction  and  feeling  on  these 
has  been  felt  at  all  times  to  be  an  essential  requisite 
of  anything  worthy  the  name  of  friendship  in  a  really 
earnest  mind."  I  do  not  quote  this  in  the  belief  that 
it  is  absolutely  true,  but  it  expresses  a  general  senti- 
ment. We  can  only  be  guided  by  our  own  experience 
in  these  matters.  Mine  has  been  that  friendship  is 
possible  with  those  whom  I  respect,  however  widely 
the}r  differ  from  me,  and  not  possible  with  those  whom 
I  am  unable  to  respect,  even  when  on  the  great  matters 
of  opinion  their  views  are  identical  with  my  own. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  change  of  opinion 
itself  has  a  tendenc}T  to  separate  men,  even  though  the 
difference  would  not  have  made  friendship  impossible 
if  it  had  existed  from  the  first.  Instances  of  this  are 
often  found  in  biographies,  especially  in  religious  biogra- 
phies, because  religious  people  are  more  "pained  "  and 
"  wounded"  by  difference  of  opinion  than  others.  We 
read  in  such  books  of  the  profound  distress  with  which 
the  hero  found  himself  separated  from  his  early  friends 
by  his  new  conviction  on  this  or  that  point  of  theology. 
Political  divergence  produces  the  same  effect  in  a  minor 
degree,  and  with  more  of  irritation  than  distress.  Even 
divergence  of  opinion  on  artistic  subjects  is  enough  to 
produce  coolness.  Artists  and  men  of  letters  become 
estranged  from  each  other  by  modifications  of  their 
critical  doctrines. 

Differences  of  prosperity  do  not  prevent  the  forma- 
tion of  friendship  if  they  have  existed  previously,  and 
can  be  taken  as  established  facts ;  but  if  they  widen 
8 


114  THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

afterwards  they  have  a  tendency  to  diminish  it.  They 
do  so  by  altering  the  views  of  one  of  the  parties  about 
ways  of  living  and  about  the  multitude  of  things  involv- 
ing questions  of  expense.  If  the  enriched  man  lives 
on  a  scale  corresponding  to  his  newly  acquired  wealth, 
he  may  be  regarded  by  the  other  as  pretentious  beyond 
his  station,  whilst  if  he  keeps  to  his  old  style  he  may 
be  thought  parsimonious.  From  delicacy  he  will  cease 
to  talk  to  the  other  about  his  money  matters,  which  he 
spoke  of  with  frankness  when  he  was  not  so  rich.  If 
he  has  social  ambition  he  will  form  new  alliances  with 
richer  men,  and  the  old  friend  may  regard  tnese  with  a 
little  unconscious  jealousy. 

It  has  been  observed  that  j'oung  artists  often  have  a 
great  esteem  for  the  work  of  one  of  their  number  so 
long  as  its  qualities  are  not  recognized  and  rewarded 
bjr  the  public,  but  that  so  soon  as  the  clever  young  man 
wins  the  natural  meed  of  industiy  and  abilit}7  his  early 
friendships  die.  They  were  often  the  result  of  a  gener- 
ous indignation  against  public  injustice,  so  when  that 
injustice  came  to  an  end  the  kindness  that  was  a  protest 
against  it  ceased  at  the  same  time.  In  jealous  natures 
it  would  no  doubt  be  replaced  by  the  conviction  that 
public  favor  had  rewarded  merit  far  beyond  its  deserts. 

In  the  political  life  of  democracies  we  see  men  en- 
thusiastically supported  and  really  admired  with  sincer- 
ity so  long  as  they  remain  in  opposition,  and  their 
friends  indulge  the  most  favorable  anticipations  about 
what  they  would  do  if  they  came  to  power ;  but  when 
they  accept  office  they  soon  lose  many  of  these  friends, 
who  are  quite  sure  to  be  disappointed  with  the  small 


THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  115 

degree  in  which  their  excessive  hopes  have  been  real- 
ized. There  is  no  country  where  this  is  seen  more 
frequently  than  in  France,  where  Ministers  are  often 
criticised  with  the  most  unrelenting  and  uncharitable 
acerbity  by  the  men  and  newspapers  that  helped  to 
raise  them. 

Changes  of  ph}*sical  constitution  may  be  the  death  ot 
friendship  in  this  way.  A  friendship  may  be  founded 
upon  some  sport  that  one  of  the  parties  becomes  unable 
to  follow.  After  that  the  two  men  cease  to  meet  on  the 
particularly  pleasant  occasions  that  every  sport  affords 
for  its  real  votaries,  and  they  only  meet  on  common 
occasions,  which  are  not  the  same  because  there  is  not 
the  same  jovial  and  heart}*  temper.  In  like  manner  a 
friendship  may  be  weakened  if  one  of  the  parties  gives 
up  some  indulgence  that  both  used  to  enjoy  together. 
Many  a  friendship  has  been  cemented  by  the  habit  of 
smoking,  and  weakened  afterwards  when  one  friend 
gtive  up  the  habit,  declined  the  cigars  that  the  other 
offered,  and  either  did  not  accompany  him  to  the 
smoking-room  or  sat  there  in  open  and  vexatious 
nonconformity. 

It  is  well  known,  so  well  known  indeed  as  scarcely 
to  require  mention  here,  that  one  of  the  most  frequent 
and  powerful  causes  of  the  death  of  bachelor  friend- 
ships is  marriage.  One  of  the  two  friends  takes  a 
wife,  and  the  friendship  is  at  once  in  peril.  The  main- 
tenance of  it  depends  upon  the  lady's  taste  and  temper. 
If  not  quite  approved  by  her,  it  will  languish  for  a  little 
while  and  then  die,  in  spite  of  all  painful  and  visible 
efforts  on  the  husband's  part  to  compensate,  by  extra 


116  THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

attention,  for  the  coolness  of  his  wife.  I  have  visited 
a  Continental  city  where  it  is  always  understood  that 
all  bachelor  friendships  are  broken  off  by  marriage. 
This  rule  has  at  least  the  advantage  of  settling  the 
question  unequivocally. 

Simple  neglect  is  probably  the  most  common  of  all 
causes  deadly  to  friendship,  —  neglect  arising  either  from 
real  indifference,  from  constitutional  indolence,  or  from 
excessive  devotion  to  business.  Friendly  feelings  must 
be  either  of  extraordinary  sincerhYy,  or  else  strengthened 
by  some  extraneous  motive  of  self-interest,  to  surmount 
pett}r  inconveniences.  The  very  slightest  difficulty  in 
maintaining  intercourse  is  sufficient  in  most  cases  to 
insure  its  total  cessation  in  a  short  time.  Your  house  is 
somewhat  difficult  of  access,  —  it  is  on  a  hill-side  or  at  a 
little  distance  from  a  railway  station :  only  the  most 
sincere  friends  will  be  at  the  trouble  to  find  you  unless 
your  rank  is  so  high  that  it  is  a  glory  to  visit  }'ou. 

Poor  friends  often  keep  up  intercourse  with  rich  ones 
by  sheer  force  of  determination  long  after  it  ought  to 
have  been  allowed  to  die  its  own  natural  death.  When 
they  do  this  without  having  the  courage  to  require 
some  approach  to  reciprocity  they  sink  into  the  con- 
dition of  mere  clients,  whom  the  patron  may  indeed 
treat  with  apparent  kindness,  but  whom  he  regards 
with  real  indifference,  taking  no  trouble  whatever  to 
maintain  the  old  connection  between  them. 

Equality  of  rank  and  fortune  is  not  at  all  necessary 
to  friendship,  but  a  certain  other  kind  of  equality  is. 
A  real  friendship  can  never  be  maintained  unless  there 
is  an  equal  readiness  on  both  sides  to  be  at  some  pains 


THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  117 

and  trouble  for  its  maintenance  ;  so  if  you  perceive  that 
a  person  whom  you  once  supposed  to  be  your  friend 
will  not  put  himself  to  any  trouble  on  your  account, 
the  only  course  consistent  with  your  dignity  is  to  take 
exactly  the  same  amount  of  pains  to  make  yourself 
agreeable  to  him.  After  you  have  done  this  for  a  little 
time  you  will  soon  know  if  the  friendship  is  realty 
dead ;  for  he  is  sure  to  perceive  your  neglect  if  he  does 
not  perceive  his  own,  and  he  will  either  renew  the 
intercourse  with  some  empressement  or  else  cease  from 
it  altogether. 

In  early  life  the  right  rule  is  to  accept  kindness  grate- 
fully from  one's  elders  and  not  to  be  sensitive  about 
omissions,  because  such  omissions  are  then  often  con- 
sistent with  the  most  real  and  affectionate  regard ;  but 
as  a  man  advances  towards  middle-age  it  is  right  for 
him  to  be  somewhat  careful  of  his  dignity  and  to  re- 
quire from  friends,  whatever  may  be  their  station,  a 
certain  general  reciprocity.'  This  should  always  be 
understood  in  rather  a  large  sense,  and  not  exacted  in 
trifles.  If  he  perceives  that  there  is  no  reciprocity  he 
cannot  do  better  than  drop  an  acquaintance  that  is 
but  the  phantom  and  simulacrum  of  Friendship's  living 
reality. 

It  is  as  natural  that  many  friendships  should  die  and 
be  replaced  by  others  as  that  our  old  selves  should  be 
replaced  b}'  our  present  selves.  The  fact  seems  mel- 
ancholy when  first  perceived,  but  is  afterwards  accepted  - 
as  inevitable.  There  is,  however,  a  death  of  friendship 
which  is  so  truly  sad  and  sorrowful  as  to  cast  its  gloomjr 
shadow  on  all  the  years  that  remain  to  us.  It  is  when 


118  THE  DEATH  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

we  ourselves,  by  some  unhappy  fault  of  temper  that 
might  have  been  easily  avoided,  have  wounded  the 
kind  breast  of  our  friend,  and  killed  the  gentle  senti- 
ment that  was  dwelling  happity  within.  The  only  way 
to  be  quite  sure  of  avoiding  this  great  and  irretrievable 
calamity  is  to  remember  how  very  delicate  friendly 
sentiments  are  and  how  easy  it  is  to  destroy  them  by 
an  inconsiderate  or  an  ungentle  word. 


THE  FLUX  OF    WEALTH.  119 


ESSAY    IX. 

THE  FLUX  OF  WEALTH. 

TT7E  become  richer  or  poorer;  we  seldom  remain 
*  *  exactly  as  we  were.  If  we  have  property,  it 
increases  or  diminishes  in  value  ;  if  our  income  is  fixed, 
the  value  of  money  alters ;  and  if  it  increased  propor- 
tionally to  the  depreciation  of  money,  our  position 
would  still  be  relatively  altered  by  changes  in  the  for- 
tunes of  others.  We  marry  and  have  children ;  then 
our  wealth  becomes  less  our  own  after  every  birth. 
We  win  some  honor  or  professional  advancement  that 
seems  a  gain ;  but  increased  expenditure  is  the  conse- 
quence, and  we  are  poorer  than  we  were  before.  Amidst 
all  these  fluctuations  of  wealth  human  intercourse  either 
continues  under  altered  conditions  or  else  it  is  broken 
off  because  they  are  no  longer  favorable  to  its  mainten- 
ance. I  propose  to  consider,  very  briefly,  how  these 
altered  conditions  operate. 

We  have  to  separate,  in  the  first  place,  intercourse 
between  individuals  from  intercourse  between  families. 
The  distinction  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  because 
the  two  are  not  under  the  same  law. 

Two  men,  of  whom  one  is  extremely  rich  and  the 
other  almost  penniless,  have  no  difficulty  in  associating 
together  on  terms  agreeable  to  both  when  they  possess 
intellectual  interests  in  common,  or  even  when  there  is 


120  THE  FLUX  OF   WEALTH. 

nothing  more  than  an  attraction  of  idiosyncrasy ;  but 
these  conditions  only  subsist  between  one  individual 
and  another ;  they  are  not  likely  to  subsist  between  two 
families.  Intercourse  between  individuals  depends  on 
something  in  intellect  and  culture  that  enables  them  to 
understand  each  other,  and  upon  something  in  char- 
acter that  makes  them  love  or  respect  each  other. 
Intercourse  between  families  depends  chiefly  on  neigh- 
borhood and  similarity  in  st3Tle  of  living. 

This  is  the  reason  why  bachelors  have  so  much  easier 
access  to  society  than  men  with  wives  and  families. 
The  bachelor  is  received  for  himself,  for  his  genius, 
information,  manners  ;  but  if  he  is  married  the  question 
is,  "What  sort  of  people  are  they?"  This,  being 
interpreted,  means,  "What  style  do  they  live  in?" 
* '  How  many  servants  do  they  keep  ?  " 

Whatever  may  be  the  variety  of  opinions  concerning 
the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  there  is  but  one 
concerning  her  astuteness.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  she  is  the  most  influential  association  of  men  that 
has  ever  existed  ;  and  she  has  decided  for  celibacy,  that 
the  priest  might  stand  on  his  merits  and  on  the  power 
of  the  Church,  and  be  respected  and  admitted  every- 
where in  spite  of  notorious  poverty. 

Mignet,  the  historian,  was  a  most  intimate  and  con- 
stant friend  of  Thiers.  Mignet,  though  rich  in  reality, 
as  he  knew  how  to  live  contentedly  on  moderate  means, 
was  poor  in  comparison  with  his  friend.  This  inequal- 
ity did  not  affect  their  friendship  in  the  least ;  for  both 
were  great  workers,  well  qualified  to  understand  each 
other,  though  Thiers  lived  in  a  grand  house,  and  Mignet 


THE  FLUX  OF   WEALTH.  121 

in  a  barely  furnished  lodging  high  up  in  a  house  that 
did  not  belong  to  him. 

Mignet  was  a  bachelor,  and  they  were  both  child- 
less men ;  but  imagine  them  with  large  families.  One 
family  would  have  been  bred  in  the  greatest  luxury,  the 
other  in  austere  simplicity.  Children  are  keenly  alive 
to  these  distinctions  ;  and  even  if  there  had  been  neither 
pride  in  the  rich  house  nor  envy  in  the  poorer  one  the 
contrast  would  have  been  constantly  felt.  The  histori- 
cal studies  that  the  fathers  had  in  common  would  prob- 
ably not  have  interested  their  descendants,  and  unless 
there  had  been  some  other  powerful  bond  of  sympathy 
the  two  families  would  have  lived  in  different  worlds. 
The  rich  family  would  have  had  rich  friends,  the  poorer 
family  would  have  attached  itself  to  other  families  with 
whom  it  could  have  exchanged  hospitality  on  more 
equal  terms.  This  would  have  happened  even  in  Paris, 
a  cit}r  where  there  is  a  remarkable  absence  of  contempt 
for  poverty ;  a  city  where  the  slightest  reason  for  dis- 
tinction will  admit  any  well-bred  man  into  society  in 
spite  of  narrow  means  and  insure  him  immunity  from 
disdain.  All  the  more  certainly  would  it  happen  in 
places  where  money  is  the  only  regulator  of  rank,  the 
only  acknowledged  claim  to  consideration. 

I  once  knew  an  English  merchant  who  was  reputed 
to  be  wealthy,  and  who,  like  a  true  Englishman  as  he 
was,  inhabited  one  of  those  great  houses  that  are  so 
elaborately  contrived  for  the  exercise  of  hospitality. 
He  had  a  kind  and  friendly  heart,  and  lived  surrounded 
by  people  who  often  did  him  the  favor  to  drink  his 
excellent  wines  and  sleep  in  his  roomy  bedchambers. 


122  THE  FLUX   OF   WEALTH. 

On  his  death  it  turned  out  that  he  had  never  been 
quite  so  rich  as  he  appeared  and  that  during  his  last 
decade  his  fortune  had  rapidly  dwindled.  Being  much 
interested  in  everything  that  may  confirm  or  invalidate 
those  views  of  human  nature  that  are  current  in  ancient 
and  modern  literature,  I  asked  his  son  how  those  who 
were  formerly  such  frequent  guests  at  the  great  house 
had  behaved  to  the  impoverished  family.  "  They 
simply  avoided  us,"  he  said;  "  and  some (  of  them, 
when  they  met  me,  would  cut  ,me  openly  in  the 

street." 
M 
It  may  be  said  with  perfect  truth  that  this  was  a  good 

riddance.  It  is  certain  that  it  was  so  ;  it  is  undeniable 
that  the  deliverance  from  a  horde  of  false  friends  is 
worth  a  considerable  sum  per  head  of  them ;  and  that 
in  itself  was  only  a  subject  of  congratulation,  but  their 
behavior  was  hard  to  bear  because  it  was  the  evidence 
of  a  fall.  We  like  deference  as  a  proof  that  we  have 
what  others  respect,  quite  independently  of  any  real 
affection  on  their  part ;  nay,  we  even  enjoy  the  forced 
deference  of  those  who  hate  us,  well  knowing'  that  they 
would  behave  very  differently  if  they  dared.  Besides 
this,  it  is  not  certain  that  an  impoverished  family  will 
find  truer  friends  amongst  the  poor  than  it  did  formerly 
amongst  the  rich.  The  relation  may  be  the  same  as 
it  was  before,  and  only  the  incomes  of  the  parties 
altered. 

What  concerns  our  present  subject  is  simply  that 
changes  of  pecuniary  situation  have  always  a  strong 
tendenc}7  to  throw  people  amongst  other  associates  ;  and 
as  these  changes  are  continually  occurring,  the  result  is 


THE  FLUX  OF   WEALTH.  123 

that  families  very  rarely  preserve  the  same  acquaint- 
ances for  more  than  a  single  generation.  And  now 
comes  the  momentous  issue.  The  influence  of  our  as- 
sociates is  so  difficult  to  resist,  in  fact  so  completely 
irresistible  in  the  long  run,  that  people  belong  far  less 
to  the  class  they  are  descended  from  than  to  the  class 
in  which  they  live.  The  younger  son  of  some  perfectly 
aristocratic  family  marries  rather  imprudently  and  is 
impoverished  by  family  expenses.  His  son  marries 
imprudently  again  and  goes  into  another  class.  The 
children  of  that  second  marriage  will  probably  not  have 
a  trace  of  the  peculiarly  aristocratic  civilization.  They 
will  have  neither  the  manners,  nor  the  ideas,  nor  the 
unexpressed  instincts  of  the  real  aristocracy  from  which 
they  sprang.  In  place  of  tliem  they  will  have  the  ideas 
of  the  lower  middle  class,  and  be  in  habits  and  manners 
just  as  completely  of  that  class  as  if  their  forefathers 
had  always  belonged  to  it. 

I  have  in  view  two  instances  of  this  which  are  es- 
pecially interesting  to  me  because  they  exemplify  it  in 
opposite  wa}'s.  In  one  of  these  cases  the  man  was  vir- 
tuous and  religious,  but  though  his  ancestry  was  aris- 
tocratic his  virtues  and  his  religion  were  exactly  those 
of  the  English  middle  class.  /He  was  a  good  Bible- 
reading,  Sabbath-observing,  theatre- avoiding  Evangeli- 
cal, inclined  to  think  that  dancing  was  rather  sinful,^ 
and  in  all  those  subtle  points  of  difference  that  distin- 
guish the  middle-class  Englishman  from  the  aristocratic 
Englishman  he  followed  the  middle  class,  not  seeming 
to  have  any  unconscious  reminiscence  in  his  blood  of 
an  ancestry  with  a  freer  and  lordlier  life.  He  cared 


124  THE  FLUX  OF   WEALTH. 

neither  for  the  sports,  nor  the  studies,  nor  the  social 
intercourse  of  the  aristocracy.  His  time  was  divided, 
as  that  of  the  typical  good  middle-class  Englishman 
general!}1  is,  between  business  and  religion,  except 
when  he  read  his  newspaper.  By  a  combination  of 
industry  and  good-fortune  he  recovered  wealth,  and 
might  have  rejoined  the  aristocracy  to  which  he  be- 
longed by  right  of  descent;  but  middle-class  habits 
were  too  strong,  and  he  remained  contentedly  to  the 
close  of  life  both  in  that  class  and  of  it. 

The  other  example  I  am  thinking  of  is  that  of  a  man 
still  better  descended,  who  followed  a  profession  which, 
though  it  offers  a  good  field  for  energy  and  talent,  is 
seldom  pursued  by  gentlemen.  He  acquired  the  habits 
and  ideas  of  an  intelligent  but  dissipated  working-man, 
his  vices  were  exactly  those  of  such  a  man,  and  so  was 
his  particular  kind  of  religious  scepticism.  I  need  not 
go  further  into  detail.  Suppose  the  character  of  a  very 
clever  but  vicious  and  irreligious  workman,  such  as 
may  be  found  in  great  numbers  in  the  large  English 
towns,  and  you  have  the  accurate  portrait  of  this 
particular  declasse. 

In  mentioning  these  two  cases  I  am  anxious  to  avoid 
misinterpretation.  I  have  no  particular  respect  for  one 
class  more  than  another,  and  am  especially  disposed  to 
indulgence  for  the  faults  of  those  who  bear  the  stress 
of  the  labor  of  the  world ;  but  I  see  that  there  are 
classes,  and  that  the  fluctuations  of  fortune,  more  than 
an}7  other  cause,  bring  people  within  the  range  of  influ- 
ence exercised  by  the  habits  of  classes,  and  form  them 
in  the  mould,  so  that  their  virtues  and  vices  afterwards, 


THE  FLUX  OF   WEALTH.  125 

besides  their  smaller  qualities  and  defects,  belong  to 
the  class  they  live  in  and  not  to  the  class  they  may 
be  descended  from.  In  other  words,  men  are  more 
strongly  influenced  by  human  intercourse  than  by 
heredity. 

The  most  remarkable  effect  of  the  fluctuation  of 
wealth  is  the  extreme  rapidity  with  which  the  pros- 
perous family  gains  refinement  of  manners,  whilst  the 
impoverished  family  loses  it.  This  change  seems  to  be 
more  rapid  in  our  own  age  and  country  than  it  has 
ever  been  before.  Nothing  is  more  interesting  than  to 
watch  this  double  process  ;  and  nothing  in  social  studies 
is  more  curious  than  the  multiplicity  of  the  minute 
causes  that  bring  it  about.  Every  abridgment  of  cere- 
mon}'  has  a  tendency  to  lower  refinement  by  introducing 
that  sans-gene  which  is  fatal  to  good  manners.  Cere- 
mony is  only  compatible  with  leisure.  It  is  abridged 
by  haste ;  haste  is  the  result  of  poverty ;  and  so  it 
comes  to  pass  that  the  loss  of  fortune  induces  people 
to  give  up  one  little  observance  after  another,  for  econ- 
omy of  time,  till  at  last  there  are  none  remaining. 
There  is  the  excellent  habit  of  dressing  for  the  evening 
meal.  The  mere  cost  of  it  is  almost  imperceptible, 
except  that  it  causes  a  small  additional  expenditure  in 
clean  linen ;  but,  although  the  pecuniary  tax  is  slight, 
there  is  a  tax  on  time  which  is  not  compatible  with 
hurry  and  irregularity,  so  it  is  only  people  of  some 
leisure  who  maintain  it.  Now  consider  the  subtle  influ- 
ence, on  manners,  of  the  maintenance  or  abandonment 
of  this  custom.  Where  it  is  kept  up,  gentlemen  and 
ladies  meet  in  a  drawing-room  before  dinner  prepared 


126  THE  FLUX   OF   WEALTH. 

by  their  toilet  for  the  disciplined  intercourse  of  well- 
regulated  social  life.  They  are  like  officers  in  uniform, 
or  clerg}Tmen  in  canonicals :  they  wear  a  dress  that  is 
not  without  its  obligations.  It  is  not  the  luxury  of  it 
that  does  this,  for  the  dress  is  always  plain  for  men 
and  often  simple  for  ladies,  but  the  mere  fact  of  taking 
the  trouble  to  dress  is  an  act  of  deference  to  civiliza- 
tion and  disposes  the  mind  to  other  observances.  It 
has  the  further  advantage  of  separating  us  from  the 
occupations  of  the  day  and  marking  a  new  point  of 
departure  for  the  gentler  life  of  the  evening.  As  peo- 
ple become  poorer  they  give  up  dressing  except  when 
they  have  a  party,  and  then  they  feel  ill  at  ease  from 
the  consciousness  of  a  white  tie.  You  have  only  to  go 
a  little  further  in  this  direction  to  arrive  at  the  people 
who  do  not  feel  any  inclination  to  wash  their  hands 
before  dinner,  even  when  they  visibly  need  it.  Finally 
there  are  houses  where  the  master  will  sit  down  to  table 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  without  anything  round  his 
neck.  People  who  live  in  this  way  have  nc* social  inter- 
course whatever  of  a  slightly  ceremonious  kind,  and 
therefore  miss  all  the  discipline  in  manners  that  rich 
people  go  through  every  day.  The  higher  society  is  a 
school  of  manners  that  the  poor  have  not  leisure  to 
attend. 

The  downward  course  of  an  impoverished  family  is 
strongly  aided  by  an  element  in  many  natures  that  the 
discipline  of  high  life  either  subdues  or  eliminates. 
There  are  always  people,  especially  in  the  male  sex, 
who  feel  ill  at  ease  under  ceremonial  restraints  of  any 
kind,  and  who  find  the  release  from  them  an  ineffably 


THE  FLUX   OF   WEALTH.  127 

delightful  emancipation.  Such  people  hate  dressing  for 
dinner,  hate  the  forms  of  politeness,  hate  gloves  and 
visiting-cards,  and  all  that  such  things  remind  them  of. 
To  be  rid  of  these  things  once  for  all,  to  be  able  to  sit 
and  smoke  a  pipe  in  an  old  gray  coat,  seems  to  them 
far  greater  and  more  substantial  happiness  than  to 
drink  claret  in  a  dining-room,  napkin  on  knee.  Once 
out  of  societ}',  such  men  have  no  desire  to  enter  it  again, 
and  after  a  very  short  exclusion  from  it  they  belong  to 
a  lower  class  from  taste  quite  as  much  as  from  circum- 
stances. All  those  who  have  a  tendenc%y  towards  the 
philosophy  of  Diogenes  (and  they  are  more  numer- 
ous than  we  suppose)  are  of  this  manner  of  thinking. 
Sometimes  they  have  a  taste  for  serious  intellectual 
pursuits  which  makes  the  nothings  of  society  seem 
frivolous,  and  also  consoles  their  pride  for  an  apparent 
de  che'ance. 

If  it  were  possible  to  get  rid  of  the  burdensome 
superfluities  of  high  life,  most  of  which  are  useless  en- 
cumbrances, and  live  simply  without  any  loss  of  refine- 
ment, I  should  say  that  these  philosophers  would  have 
reason  on  their  side.  The  complicated  apparatus  of 
wealthy  life  is  not  in  itself  desirable.  To  convert  the 
simple  act  of  satisfying  hunger  into  the  tedious  ceremo- 
nial of  a  state  dinner  may  be  a  satisfaction  of  pride,  but 
it  is  assuredly  not  an  increase  of  pleasure.  To  receive 
as  guests  people  whom  we  do  not  care  for  in  the  least 
(which  is  constantly  done  by  rich  people  to  maintain 
their  position)  offers  less  of  what  is  agreeable  in  human 
intercourse  than  a  chat  with  a  real  friend  under  a  shed 
of  thatch.  Nevertheless,  to  be  totally  excluded  from 


128  THE  FLUX   OF   WEALTH. 

the  life  of  the  wealthy  is  to  miss  a  discipline  in  manners 
that  nothing  ever  replaces,  and  this  is  the  real  loss. 
The  cultivation  of  taste  which  results  from  leisure  forms, 
in  course  of  time,  amongst  rich  people  a  public  opinion 
that  disciplines  ever}'  member  of  an  aristocratic  society 
far  more  severely  than  the  more  careless  opinion  of  the 
hurried  classes  ever  disciplines  them.  To  know  the 
value  of  such  discipline  we  have  only  to  observe  so- 
cieties from  which  it  is  absent.  We  have  many  oppor- 
tunities for  this  in  travelling,  and  one  occurred  to  me 
last  year  that  I  will  describe  as  an  example.  I  was 
boating  with  two  young  friends  on  a  French  river,  and 
we  spent  a  Sunday  in  a  decent  riverside  inn,  where  we 
had  dejeuner  in  a  corner  of  the  public  room.  Several 
men  of  the  neighborhood,  probably  farmers  and  small 
proprietors,  sat  in  another  corner  playing  cards.  They 
had  a  very  decent  appearance,  they  were  fine  healthy- 
looking  men,  quite  the  contrary  of  a  degraded  class, 
and  they  were  onty  amusing  themselves  temperately  on 
a  Sunday  morning.  Well,  from  the  beginning  of  their 
game  to  the  end  of  it  (that  is,  during  the  whole  time 
of  our  meal) ,  they  did  nothing  but  shout,  yell,  shriek, 
and  swear  at  each  other  loudly  enough  to  be  heard 
across  the  broad  river.  They  were  not  angry  in  the 
least,  but  it  was  their  habit  to  make  a  noise  and  to  use 
oaths  and  foul  language  continually.  We,  at  our  table, 
could  not  hear  each  other's  voices ;  but  this  did  not 
occur  to  them.  They  had  no  notion  that  their  noisy 
kind  of  intercourse  could  be  unpleasant  to  anybody, 
because  delicacy  of  sense,  fineness  of  nerve,  had  not 
been  developed  in  their  class  of  society.  Afterwards 


THE  FLUX   OF   WEALTH.  129 

I  asked  them  for  some  information,  which  they  gave 
with  a  real  anxiety  to  make  themselves  of  use.  Some 
rich  people  came  to  the  inn  with  a  pretty  carriage,  and 
I  amused  myself  by  noting  the  difference.  Their  man- 
ners were  perfectly  quiet.  Why  are  rich  people  quiet 
and  poorer  ones  noisy?  Because  the  refinements  of 
wealthy  life,  its  peace  and  tranquillity,  its  leisure,  its 
facilities  for  separation  in  different  rooms,  produce 
delicacy  of  nerve,  with  the  perception  that  noise  is  dis- 
agreeable; and  out  of  this  delicacy,  when  it  is  general 
amongst  a  whole  class,  springs  a  strong  determination 
so  to  discipline  the  members  of  the  class  that  they  shall 
not  make  themselves  disagreeable  to  the  majority. 
Hence  lovers  of  good  manners  have  a  preference  for 
the  richer  classes  quite  apart  from  a  love  of  physical 
luxury  or  a  snobbish  desire  to  be  associated  with  people 
of  rank.  For  the  same  reason  a  lover  of  good  manners 
dreads  poverty  or  semi-poverty  for  his  children,  because 
even  a  moderate  degree  of  poverty  (not  to  speak  of  the 
acute  forms  of  it)  may  compel  them  to  associate  with  the 
undisciplined.  What  gentleman  would  like  his  son  to 
live  habitually  with  the  card-players  I  have  described? 


130  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 


ESSAY  X. 

DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

r  I  ""HE  most  remarkable  peculiarity  about  the  desire 
•*•  to  establish  distinctions  of  rank  is  not  that  there 
should  be  definite  gradations  amongst  people  who  have 
titles,  but  that,  when  the  desire  is  strong  in  a  nation, 
public  opinion  should  go  far  beyond  heralds  and  parch- 
ments and  gazettes,  and  establish  the  most  minute 
gradations  amongst  people  who  have  nothing  honorific 
about  them. 

When  once  the  rule  is  settled  by  a  table  of  prece- 
dence that  an  earl  is  greater  than  a  baron,  we  simpty 
acquiesce  in  the  arrangement,  as  we  are  ready  to 
believe  that  a  mandarin  with  a  yellow  jacket  is  a 
much-to-be-honored  sort  of  mandarin  ;  but  what  is  the 
power  that  strikes  the  nice  balance  of  social  advantages 
in  favor  of  Mr.  Smith  as  compared  with  Mr.  Jones, 
when  neither  one  nor  the  other  has  any  title,  or  ances- 
try, or  anything  whatever  to  boast  of  ?  Amongst  the 
many  gifts  that  are  to  be  admired  in  the  fair  sex  this 
seems  one  of  the  most  mysterious,  that  ladies  can  so 
decidedly  fix  the  exact  social  position  of  every  human 
being.  Men  soon  find  themselves  bewildered  by  con- 
flicting considerations,  but  a  woman  goes  to  the  point 
at  once,  and  settles  in  the  most  definite  manner  that 
Smith  is  certainly  the  superior  of  Jones. 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  131 

This  may  bring  upon  me  the  imputation  of  being  a 
democrat  and  a  leveller.  No,  I  rather  like  a  well- 
defined  social  distinction  when  it  has  reality.  Real 
distinctions  keep  societ\T  picturesque  and  interesting ; 
what  I  fail  to  appreciate  so  completely  are  the  ficti- 
tious little  distinctions  that  have  no  basis  in  reality, 
and  appear  to  be  instituted  merety  for  the  sake  of 
establishing  differences  that  do  not  naturally  exist.  It 
seems  to  be  an  unfortunate  tendency  that  seeks  unap- 
parent  differences,  and  it  may  have  a  bad  effect  on 
character  b}r  forcing  each  man  back  upon  the  consid- 
eration of  his  own  claims  that  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  forget. 

I  once  dined  at  a  country-house  in  Scotland  when 
the  host  asked  one  of  the  guests  this  question,  "Are 
you  a  land-owner?"  in  order  to  determine  his  prece- 
dence. It  did  so  happen  that  the  guest  owned  a  few 
small  farms,  so  he  answered  "  Yes  ;  "  but  it  struck  me 
that  the  distinction  between  a  man  who  had  a  moder- 
ate sum  invested  in  land  and  one  who  had  twice  as 
much  in  other  investments  was  not  clearl}'  in  favor  of 
the  first.  Could  not  the  other  buy  land  any  day  if  he 
liked?  He  who  hath  gold  hath  land,  potentially.  If 
precedence  is  to  be  regulated  by  so  material  a  consid- 
eration as  wealth,  let  it  be  done  fairly  and  plainly. 
The  best  and  simplest  plan  would  be  to  embroider  the 
amount  of  each  gentleman's  capital  in  gold  thread  on 
the  breast  of  his  dress-coat.  The  metal  would  be 
appropriate,  the  embroidery  would  be  decorative,  and 
the  practice  would  offer  unequalled  encouragement  to 
thrift. 


132  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

Again,  I  have  always  understood  in  the  most  confused 
manner  the  distinction,  so  clear  to  many,  between 
those  who  are  in  trade  and  those  who  are  not.  I 
think  I  see  the  only  real  objection  to  trade  with  the 
help  of  M.  Renan,  who  has  stated  it  very  clearly,  but 
my  difficulty  is  to  discover  who  are  tradesmen,  and,  still 
more,  who  are  not  tradesmen.  Here  is  M.  Kenan's 
account  of  the  matter :  — 

"  Our  ideal  can  only  be  realized  with  a  Government  that 
gives  some  eclat  to  those  who  are  connected  with  it  and 
which  creates  distinctions  outside  of  wealth.  We  feel  an 
antipathy  to  a  society  in  which  the  merit  of  a  man  and  his 
superiority  to  another  can  only  be  revealed  under  the  form 
of  industry  and  commerce ;  not  that  trade  and  industry  are 
not  honest  in  our  eyes,  but  because  we  see  clearly  that  the 
best  things  (such  as  the  functions  of  the  priest,  the  magis- 
trate, the  savant,  the  artist,  and  the  serious  man  of  letters) 
are  the  inverse  of  the  industrial  and  commercial  spirit,  the 
first  duty  of  those  who  follow  them  being  not  to  try  to  enrich 
themselves,  and  never  to  take  into  consideration  the  venal 
value  of  what  they  do." 

This  I  understand,  provided  that  the  priest,  magis- 
trate, savant,  artist,  and  serious  man  of  letters  are 
faithful  to  this  "  first  duty  ;  "  provided  that  they  "  never 
take  into  consideration  the  venal  value  of  what  they 
do  ; "  but  there  are  tradesmen  in  the  highest  professions. 
All  that  can  be  said  against  trade  is  that  its  object  is 
profit.  Then  it  follows  that  every  profession  followed 
for  profit  has  in  it  what  is  objectionable  in  trade,  and 
that  the  professions  are  not  noble  in  themselves  but 
only  if  they  are  followed  in  a  disinterested  spirit.  I 
should  say,  then,  that  any  attempt  to  fix  the  degree 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  133 

of  nobleness  of  persons  by  the  supposed  nobleness  of 
their  occupations  must  be  founded  upon  an  unreal 
distinction.  A  venal  clergyman  who  does  not  believe 
the  dogmas  that  he  defends  for  his  endowment,  a  venal 
barrister,  ready  to  prostitute  his  talents  and  his  tongue 
for  a  large  income,  seem  to  me  to  have  in  them  far 
more  of  what  is  objectionable  in  trade  than  a  country 
bookseller  who  keeps  a  little  shop  and  sells  note-paper 
and  sealing-wax  over  the  counter ;  }'et  it  is  assumed 
that  their  occupations  are  noble  occupations  and  that 
his  business  is  not  noble,  though  I  can  see  nothing  what- 
ever in  it  of  which  an}'  gentleman  need  be  in  the  slight- 
est degree  ashamed. 

Again,  there  seem  to  be  most  unreal  distinctions 
of  respectability  in  the  trades  themselves.  The  wine 
trade  has  always  been  considered  a  gentlemanly  busi- 
ness ;  but  why  is  it  more  respectable  to  sell  wine  and 
spirits  than  to  sell  bread,  or  cheese,  or  beef  ?  Are  not 
articles  of  food  more  useful  to  the  community  than  alco- 
holic drinks,  and  less  likely  to  contribute  to  the  general 
sum  of  evil?  As  for  the  honesty  of  the  dealers,  no 
doubt  there  are  honest  wine- merchants  ;  but  what  thing 
that  is  sold  for  money  has  been  more  frequently  adul- 
terated, or  more  mendaciously  labelled,  or  more  un- 
scrupulously charged  for,  than  the  produce  of  European 
vintages  ?  * 

1  That  valiant  enemy  of  false  pretensions,  Mr.  Punch,  has  often 
done  good  service  in  throwing  ridicule  on  unreal  distinctions.  In 
"  Punch's  Almanack  "  for  1882  I  find  the  following  exquisite  con- 
versation beneath  one  of  George  Du  Manner's  inimitable  drawings : 

Grigsby.     Do  you  know  the  Joneses  1 

Mrs.   Brown.      No,    we — er— don't    care    to    know    Business 


134  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

Another  wonderful  unrealit}7  is  the  following.  Peo- 
ple desire  the  profits  of  trade,  but  are  unwilling  to  lose 
caste  by  engaging  in  it  openly.  In  order  to  fill  their 
pockets  and  preserve  their  rank  at  the  same  time  they 
engage  in  business  anonymously,  either  as  members  ot 
some  firm  in  which  their  names  do  not  appear,  or  else 
as  share-holders  in  great  trading  enterprises.  In  both 
these  cases  the  investor  of  capital  becomes  just  as  really 
and  truly  a  tradesman  as  if  he  kept  a  shop,  but  if  you 
were  to  tell  him  that  he  was  a  tradesman  he  would 
probably  resent  the  imputation. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  people  who  most  despise 
commerce  are  the  very  people  who  bow  down  most 
readily  before  the  accomplished  results  of  commerce ; 
for  as  they  have  an  exaggerated  sense  of  social  dis- 
tinctions, they  are  great  adorers  of  wealth  for  the  dis- 
tinction that  it  confers.  By  their  worship  of  wealth 
they  acknowledge  it  to  be  most  desirable ;  but  then 
they  worship  rank  also,  and  this  other  cultus  goes  with 
the  sentiment  of  contempt  for  humble  and  plodding 
industry  in  all  its  forms. 

The  contempt  for  trade  is  inconsistent  in  another 
way.  A  man  may  be  excluded  from  ' '  good  society  " 
because  he  is  in  trade,  and  his  grandson  may  be  ad- 
mitted because  the  grandfather  was  in  trade,  that  is, 

people,  as  a  rule,  although  my  husband  's  in  business ;  but  then 
he  's  in  the  Coffee  business, — and  they  're  all  GENTLEMEN  in  the 
Coffee  business,  you  know  ! 

Grigsby  (who  always  suits  himself  to  his  company).  Really, 
now  !  Why,  that 's  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  Army,  the  Navy, 
the  Church,  the  Bar,  or  even  the  House  of  Lords !  I  don't  wondef 
at  your  being  rather  exclusive  ! 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.   135 

through  a  fortune  of  commercial  origin.  The  present 
Prime  Minister  (Gladstone)  and  the  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Commons  (Mr.  Arthur  Peel)  and  man}*  other 
men  of  high  position  in  both  Houses  ma}T  owe  their 
fame  to  their  own  distinguished  abilities  ;  but  they  owe 
the  leisure  and  opportunity  for  cultivating  and  display- 
ing those  abilities  to  the  wits  and  industry  of  tradesmen 
removed  from  them  only  by  one  or  two  generations. 

Is  there  not  a  strange  inconsistency  in  adoring  wealth 
as  it  is  adored,  and  despising  the  particular  kind  of  skill 
and  ability  by  which  it  is  usually  acquired?  For  if 
there  be  anything  honorable  about  wealth  it  must  surely 
be  as  evidence  of  the  intelligence  and  industry  that  are 
necessary  for  the  conquest  of  poverty.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  narrowly  exclusive  societ}7  despises  the  virtue 
that  is  most  creditable  to  the  nouveau  riche,  his  in- 
dustry, whilst  it  worships  his  wealth  as  soon  as  the 
preservation  of  it  is  compatible  with  idleness. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  unreal  distinction  in  the 
matter  of  ancestiy.  Those  who  observe  closely  are  well 
aware  that  many  undoubted  and  lineal  descendants  of 
the  oldest  families  are  in  humble  social  positions,  simply 
for  want  of  money  to  make  a  display,  whilst  others 
usurp  their  coats-of-arms  and  claim  a  descent  that  they 
cannot  reallj'  prove.  The  whole  subject  is  therefore 
one  of  the  most  unsatisfactoiy  that  can  be,  and  all  that 
remains  to  the  real  members  of  old  families  who  have 
not  wealth  enough  to  hold  a  place  in  the  expensive 
modern  aristocracy,  is  to  remember  secretly  the  history 
of  their  ancestors  if  they  are  romantic  and  poetical 
enough  to  retain  the  old-fashioned  sentiment  of  birth, 


136  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

and  to  forget  it  if  the}T  look  only  to  the  present  and  the 
practical.  There  is,  indeed,  so  little  of  the  romantic 
sentiment  left  in  the  country,  that  even  amongst  the 
descendants  of  old  families  themselves  very  few  are 
able  to  blazon  their  own  armorial  bearings,  or  even 
know  what  the  verb  "to  blazon"  means. 

Amidst  so  great  a  confusion  the  simplest  way  would 
be  not  to  think  about  rank  at  all,  and  to  take  human 
nature  as  it  comes  without  reference  to  it ;  but  however 
the  ancient  barriers  of  rank  may  be  broken  down ,  it  is 
only  to  erect  new  ones.  English  feeling  has  a  deep 
satisfaction  in  contemplating  rank  and  wealth  com- 
bined. It  is  that  which  it  likes,  —  the  combination. 
When  wealth  is  gone  it  thinks  that  a  man  should  lock 
up  his  pedigree  in  his  desk  and  forget  that  he  has  an- 
cestors ;  so  it  has  been  said  that  an  English  gentleman 
in  losing  wealth  loses  his  caste  with  it,  whilst  a  French 
or  Italian  gentleman  may  keep  his  caste,  except  in  the 
most  abject  poverty.  On  the  other  hand,  when  an 
Englishman  has  a  vast  fortune  it  is  thought  right  to 
give  him  a  title  also,  that  the  desirable  combination 
may  be  created  afresh.  Nothing  is  so  striking  in  Eng- 
land, considering  that  it  is  an  old  country,  as  the  new- 
ness of  most  of  the  great  families.  The  aristocracy  is 
like  London,  that  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  very 
ancient  city,  }Tet  the  houses  are  of  recent  date.  An 
aristocracy  may  be  stronger  and  in  better  repair  be- 
cause of  its  newness ;  it  may  also  be  more  likely  to 
make  a  display  of  aristocratic  superiorities,  and  expect 
deference  to  be  paid  to  them,  than  an  easy-going  old 
aristocracy  would  be. 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  137 

What  are  the  superiorities,  and  what  is  the  nature  of 
the  deference  ? 

The  superiority  given  by  title  depends  on  the  intensity 
of  title-worship  amongst  the  public.  In  England  that 
religion  is  in  a  veiy  health}'  and  flourishing  state,  so 
that  titles  are  very  valuable  there  ;  in  France  the  sense 
of  a  social  hierarchy  is  so  much  weakened  that  titles 
are  of  infinitely  less  value.  False  ones  are  assumed 
and  borne  with  impunity  on  account  of  the  general 
indifference,  whilst  true  and  authentic  titles  are  often 
dropped  as  an  encumbrance.  The  blundering  igno- 
rance of  the  French  about  our  titles,  which  so  astonishes 
Englishmen,  is  clue  to  a  carelessness  about  the  whole 
subject  that  no  inhabitant  of  the  British  Islands  can 
imagine.1  In  those  islands  title  is  of  very  great 

1  I  am  often  amused  by  the  indignant  feelings  of  English  jour- 
nalists on  this  matter.  Some  French  newspaper  calls  an  English- 
man a  lord  when  he  is  not  a  lord,  and  our  journalists  are  amazed 
at  the  incorrigible  ignorance  of  the  French.  If  Englishmen 
cared  as  little  about  titles  they  would  be  equally  ignorant,  and 
two  or  three  other  things  are  to  be  said  in  defence  of  the  French 
journalist  that  English  critics  never  take  into  account.  They 
suppose  that  because  Gladstone  is  commonly  called  Mr.  a  French- 
man ought  to  know  that  he  cannot  be  a  lord.  That  does  not 
follow.  In  France  a  man  may  be  called  Monsieur  and  be  a  baron 
at  the  same  time.  A  Frenchman  may  answer,  "  If  Gladstone  is 
not  a  lord,  why  do  you  call  him  one  ?  English  almanacs  not 
only  say  that  Gladstone  is  a  lord,  but  that  he  is  the  yery  First  Lord 
of  the  Treasury.  Again,  why  am  I  not  to  speak  of  Sir  Chamber- 
lain ?  I  have  seen  a  printed  letter  to  him  beginning  with  '  Sir,' 
which  is  plain  evidence  that  your  '  Sir '  is  the  equivalent  of  our 
Monsieur."  A  Frenchman  is  surely  not  to  be  severely  blamed  if 
he  is  not  aware  that  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  is  not  a  lord 
at  all,  and  that  a  man  who  is  called  a  "  Sir  "  inside  every  letter 
addressed  to  him  has  no  right  to  that  title  on  the  envelope. 


138  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

importance  because  the  people  have  such  a  strong  con- 
sciousness of  its  existence.  In  England,  if  there  is 
a  lord  in  the  room  everybody  is  aware  of  it. 

Superiority  of  family,  without  title,  is  merely  local ; 
it  is  not  understood  far  from  the  ancestral  home. 
Superiority  of  title  is  national ;  it  is  imperfectly  appre- 
ciated in  foreign  countries.  But  superiority  of  wealth 
has  the  immense  advantage  over  these  that  it  is  re- 
spected everywhere  and  can  display  itself  everywhere 
with  the  utmost  ostentation  under  pretext  of  custom 
and  pleasure.  It  commands  the  homage  of  foolish  and 
frivolous  people  by  possibilities  of  vain  display,  and 
at  the  same  time  it  appears  desirable  to  the  wise  be- 
cause it  makes  the  gathering  of  experience  easy  and 
human  intercourse  convenient. 

The  rich  man  has  access  to  an  immense  range  of 
varied  situations  ;  and  if  he  has  energy  to  profit  by  this 
facility  and  put  himself  in  those  situations  where  he 
may  learn  the  most,  he  may  become  far  more  experi- 
enced at  thirty-five  than  a  poor  man  can  be  at  seventy. 
A  poor  man  has  a  taste  for  boating,  so  he  builds  a  little 
boat  with  his  own  hands,  and  paints  it  green  and  white, 
with  its  name,  the  "  Cock- Robin,"  in  yellow.  Mean- 
while his  good  wife,  in  spite  of  all  the  work  she  has  to 
do,  has  a  kindly  indulgence  for  her  poor  Tom's  hobby, 
thinks  he  deserves  a  little  amusement,  and  stitches  the 
sail  for  him  in  the  evenings.  He  sails  five  or  six  miles 
up  and  down  the  river.  Sir  Thomas  Brassey  has  ex- 
actly the  same  tastes  :  he  builds  the  "  Sunbeam  ;  "  and 
whilst  the  "  Cock-Robin"  has  been  doing  its  little  trips, 
the  "  Sunbeam"  has  gone  round  the  world  ;  and  instead 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  139 

of  stitching  the  sails,  the  kind  wife  has  accompanied  the 
mariner,  and  written  the  story  of  his  voyage.  If  after 
that  you  talk  with  the  owners  of  the  two  vessels  you 
may  be  interested  for  a  few  minutes  —  deeply  interested 
and  touched  if  you  have  the  divine  gift  of  sympathy 
—  with  the  poor  man's  account  of  his  doings ;  but  his 
experience  is  small  and  soon  told,  whilst  the  owner  of 
the  "  Sunbeam  "  has  traversed  all  the  oceans  and  could 
tell  you  a  thousand  things.  So  it  naturally  follows  in 
most  cases,  though  the  rule  has  exceptions,  that  rich 
men  are  more  interesting  people  to  know  than  poor 
men  of  equal  ability. 

I  remember  being  forcibly  reminded  of  the  narrow 
experience  of  the  poor  on  one  of  those  occasions  that 
often  happen  to  those  who  live  in  the  country  and 
know  their  poorer  neighbors.  A  friend  of  mine,  with 
his  children,  had  come  to  stay  with  me  ;  and  there  was 
a  poor  woman,  living  in  a  very  out-of-the-way  hamlet 
on  a  hill,  who  had  made  me  promise  that  I  would  take 
my  friend  and  his  children  to  see  her,  because  she  had 
known  their  mother,  who  was  dead,  and  had  felt  for 
her  one  of  those  strong  and  constant  affections  that 
often  dwell  in  humble  and  faithful  hearts.  We  have  a 
great  respect  for  this  poor  woman,  who  is  in  all  ways 
a  thoroughl}'  dutiful  person,  and  she  has  borne  severe 
trials  with  great  patience.  Well,  she  was  delighted  to 
see  my  friend  and  his  children,  delighted  to  see  how 
well  they  looked,  how  much  they  had  grown,  and  so  on  ; 
and  then  she  spoke  of  her  own  little  ones,  and  showed 
us  the  books  they  were  learning  in,  and  described  their 
dispositions,  and  said  that  her  husband  was  in  full 


140  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

work  and  went  every  da,y  to  the  schist  mine,  and  was 
much  steadier  than  he  used  to  be,  and  made  her  much 
happier.  After  that  she  began  again,  saying  exactly 
the  same  things  all  over  again,  and  she  said  them  a 
third  time,  and  a  fourth  time.  When  we  had  left,  we 
noticed  this  repetition,  and  we  agreed  that  the  poor 
woman,  instead  of  being  deficient  in  intelligence,  was 
naturally  above  the  average,  but  that  the  extreme 
narrowness  of  her  experience,  the  total  want  of  variety 
in  her  life,  made  it  impossible  for  her  mind  to  get  out 
of  that  little  domestic  groove.  She  had  about  half-a- 
dozen  ideas,  and  she  lived  in  them,  as  a  person  in  a 
small  house  lives  in  a  very  few  rooms.  • 

Now,  however  much  esteem,  respect,  and  affection 
j'ou  may  have  for  a  person  of  that  kind,  you  will  find  it 
impossible  to  enjoy  such  society  because  conversation 
has  no  aliment.  This  is  the  one  great  reason  why 
cultivated  people  seem  to  avoid  the  poor,  even  when 
they  do  not  despise  them  in  the  least. 

The  greater  experience  of  the  rich  is  united  to  an 
incomparabty  greater  power  of  pleasant  reception,  be- 
cause in  their  homes  conversation  is  not  interfered  with 
by  the  multitude  of  petty  domestic  difficulties  and  incon- 
veniences. I  go  to  spend  the  da,y  with  a  very  poor 
friend,  and  this  is  what  is  likely  to  happen.  He  and 
I  can  only  talk  without  interruption  when  we  are  out 
of  the  house.  Inside  it  his  children  break  in  upon  us 
constantly.  His  wife  finds  me  in  the  way,  and  wishes 
I  had  not  come,  because  she  has  not  been  able  to 
provide  things  exactly  as  she  desired.  At  dinner  her 
mind  is  not  in  the  conversation  ;  she  is  really  occupied 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.   141 

with  petty  household  cares.  I,  on  my  part,  have  the 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  I  am  creating  inconvenience  ; 
and  it  requires  incessant  attention  to  soothe  the  watch- 
ful sensitiveness  of  a  hostess  who  is  so  painfully  alive 
to  the  deficiencies  of  her  small  establishment.  If  I 
have  a  robust  appetite,  it  is  well ;  but  woe  to  me  if  my 
appetite  is  small,  and  I  must  overeat  to  prove  that  the 
cookery  is  good  !  If  I  accept  a  bed  the  sacrifice  of  a 
room  will  cause  crowding  elsewhere,  besides  which  I 
shall  be  a  nuisance  in  the  early  morning  hours  when 
nothing  in  the  menage  is  fit  for  the  public  eye.  Whilst 
creating  all  this  inconvenience  to  others,  I  suffer  the 
great  one  of  being  stopped  in  my  usual  pursuits.  If  I 
want  a  few  quiet  hours  for  reading  and  writing  there 
is  only  one  way  :  I  must  go  privately  to  some  hotel  and 
hire  a  sitting-room  for  myself. 

Now  consider  the  difference  when  I  go  to  visit  a  rich 
friend !  The  first  delightful  feeling  is  that  I  do  not 
occasion  the  very  slightest  inconvenience.  His  ar- 
rangements for  the  reception  of  guests  are  permanent 
and  perfect.  My  arrival  will  scarcely  cost  his  wife 
a  thought ;  she  has  simply  given  orders  in  the  morning 
for  a  room  to  be  got  ready  and  a  cover  to  be  laid  at 
table.  Her  mind  is  free  to  think  about  any  subject 
that  suggests  itself.  Her  conversation,  from  long  prac- 
tice, is  as  easy  as  the  style  of  a  good  writer.  All 
causes  of  interruption  are  carefulty  kept  in  the  back- 
ground. The  household  details  are  attended  to  by  a 
regiment  of  domestics  under  their  own  officers.  The 
children  are  in  rooms  of  their  own  with  their  governesses 
and  servants,  and  we  see  just  enough  of  them  to  be 


142  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

agreeable.  If  I  desire  privacy,  nothing  is  more  easily 
obtained.  On  the  slightest  hint  a  room  is  placed  at 
my  disposal.  I  remember  one  house  where  that  room 
used  to  be  a  splendid  library,  full  of  the  books  which 
at  that  time  I  most  wanted  to  consult;  and  the  only 
interruption  in  the  mornings  was  the  noiseless  entrance 
of  the  dear  lady  of  the  house,  always  at  eleven  o'clock 
precisely,  with  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  biscuit  on  a  little 
silver  tray.  It  is  not  the  material  luxury  of  rich  men's 
houses  that  a  wise  man  would  desire ;  but  he  must 
thoroughly  appreciate  their  convenience  and  the  varied 
food  for  the  mind  that  they  afford,  —  the  books,  the  pic- 
tures, the  curiosities.  In  one  there  is  a  museum  of 
antiquities  that  a  large  town  might  envy,  in  another 
a  collection  of  drawings,  in  a  third  a  magnificent  ar- 
mory. In  one  private  house  in  Paris 1  there  used  to  be 
fourteen  noble  saloons  containing  the  arts  of  two  hun- 
dred years.  You  go  to  stay  in  ten  rich  houses  and  find 
them  all  different ;  you  enjoy  the  difference,  and  in  a 
certain  sense  }rou  possess  the  different  things.  The 
houses  of  the  poor  are  all  alike,  or  if  they  differ  it  is 
not  by  variety  of  artistic  or  intellectual  interest.  By 
the  habit  of  staying  in  each  other's  houses  the  rich 
multiply  their  riches  to  infinity.  In  a  certain  way  of 
their  own  (it  is  not  exactly  the  way  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians) they  have  their  goods  in  common. 

There  are,  no  doubt,  many  guests  in  the  houses  of 

the  rich  who  care  little  for  the  people  they  visit,  but 

much  for  the  variety  and  accommodation, — guests  who 

visit  the  place  rather  than  the  owner ;  guests  who  enjoy 

i  That  of  M.  Leopold  Double. 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  143 

the  cookery,  the  wines,  the  shooting,  and  who  would 
go  to  the  house  if  the  owner  were  changed,  exactly  as 
they  continue  to  patronize  some  pleasantly  situated 
and  well-managed  hotel,  after  a  change  of  masters.  I 
hardly  know  how  to  describe  these  people  in  a  word, 
but  it  is  easy  to  characterize  their  entertainers.  They 
are  unpaid  innkeepers. 

There  are  also  people,  apparently  hospitable,  who 
care  little  for  the  persons  they  invite,  — so  very  little, 
indeed,  that  we  do  not  easily  discover  what  motive 
they  have  for  inviting  them.  The  answer  may  be  that 
the\'  dislike  solitude  so  much  that  any  guest  is  accept- 
able, or  else  that  they  want  admirers  for  the  beautiful 
arrangements  and  furniture  of  their  houses ;  for  what 
is  the  use  of  having  beautiful  things  if  there  is  nobody 
to  appreciate  them  ?  Hosts  of  this  class  are  amateur 
exhibitors,  or  the3r  are  like  amateur  actors  who  want 
an  audience,  and  who  will  invite  people  to  come  and 
listen,  not  because  the}T  care  for  the  people,  but  because 
it  is  discouraging  to  pk\y  to  empty  benches. 

These  two  classes  of  guests  and  hosts  cannot  exist 
without  riches.  The  desire  to  be  entertained  ceases 
at  once  when  it  is  known  that  the  entertainment  will 
be  of  a  poor  quality  ;  and  the  desire  to  exhibit  the  inter- 
nal arrangements  of  our  houses  ceases  when  we  are  too 
poor  to  do  justice  to  the  refinement  of  our  taste. 

The  story  of  the  rich  man  who  had  many  friends  and 
saw  them  fall  away  from  him  when  he  became  poor, 
which,  under  various  forms,  reappears  in  ever}T  age  and 
is  common  to  all  literatures,  is  explained  by  these  con- 
siderations. Bucklaw  does  not  find  Lord  Ravenswood 


144  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

a  valuable  gratuitous  innkeeper ;  and  Ravenswood  is  not 
anxious  to  exhibit  to  Bucklaw  the  housekeeping  at 
Wolfs  Crag. 

But  quite  outside  of  parasite  guests  and  exhibiting 
entertainers,  there  still  remains  the  undeniable  fact  that 
if  you  like  a  rich  man  and  a  poor  one  equally  well,  you 
will  prefer  the  rich  man's  hospitalit}'  for  its  greater  con- 
venience. Nay,  more,  you  will  rightly  and  excusably 
prefer  the  rich  man's  hospitality  even  if  you  like  the 
poor  man  better,  but  find  his  household  arrangements 
disagreeable,  his  wife  fagged,  worn,  irritable,  and  un- 
gracious, his  children  ill-bred,  obtrusive,  and  dirty,  him- 
self unable  to  talk  about  an}'thing  rational  on  account 
of  family  interruptions,  and  scarcely  his  own  better 
and  higher  self  at  all  in  the  midst  of  his  domestic 
plagues.1 

There  is  no  nation  in  the  world  that  has  so  acute  a 
sense  of  the  value,  almost  the  necessity,  of  wealth  for 
human  intercourse  as  the  English  nation.  Whilst  in 
other  countries  people  think  "  Wealth  is  peace  of  mind, 
wealth  is  convenience,  wealth  is  la  vie  elegante,"  in 
England  they  silently  accept  the  maxim,  "  A  large  in- 
come is  a  necessary  of  life  ;  "  and  the}'  class  each  other 
according  to  the  scale  of  their  establishments,  looking 
up  with  unfeigned  reverence  to  those  who  have  many 

1  I  need  hardly  say  that  this  is  not  intended  as  a  description  of 
poor  men's  hospitality  generally,  but  only  of  the  effects  of  poverty 
on  hospitality  in  certain  cases.  The  point  of  the  contrast  lies  in 
the  difference  between  this  uncomfortable  hospitality,  which  a 
lover  of  pleasant  human  intercourse  avoids,  with  the  easy  and 
agreeable  hospitality  that  the  very  same  people  would  probably 
have  offered  if  they  had  possessed  the  conveniences  of  wealth. 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.  145 

servants,  many  horses,  and  gigantic  houses  where  a 
great  hospitality  is  dispensed.  An  ordinary  English- 
man thinks  he  has  failed  in  life,  and  his  friends  are  of 
the  same  opinion,  if  he  does  not  arrive  at  the  ability  to 
imitate  this  style  and  state,  at  least  in  a  minor  degree. 
I  have  given  the  best  reasons  why  it  is  desired ;  I  un- 
derstand and  appreciate  them ;  but  at  the  same  time 
I  think  it  deeply  to  be  deplored  that  an  expenditure 
far  beyond  what  can  be  met  by  the  physical  or  intel- 
lectual labor  of  ordinary  workers  should  be  thought 
necessary  in  order  that  people  may  meet  and  talk  in 
comfort.  The  big  English  house  is  a  machine  that  runs 
with  unrivalled  smoothness  ;  but  it  masters  its  master, 
it  possesses  its  nominal  possessor.  George  Borrow 
had  the  deepest  sense  of  the  Englishman's  slavery  to 
his  big,  well-ordered  dwelling,  and  saw  in  it  the  cause 
of  unnumbered  anxieties,  often  ending  in  heart-disease, 
paralysis,  bankruptc}',  and  in  minor  cases  sacrificing  all 
chance  of  leisure  and  quiet  happiness.  Many  a  land- 
owner has  crippled  himself  by  erecting  a  great  house  on 
his  estate,  — one  of  those  huge,  tasteless  buildings  that 
express  nothing  but  pompous  pride.  What  wisdom 
there  is  in  the  excellent  old  French  adage,  "  A  petite 
terre,  petite  maison  "  ! 

The  reader  ma}'  remember  Herbert  Spencer's  idea 
that  the  display  of  wealth  is  intended  to  subjugate. 
Royal  palaces  are  made  very  vast  and  magnificent  to 
subjugate  those  who  approach  the  sovereign ;  and  all 
rich  and  powerful  people  use  the  same  means,  for  the 
same  purpose,  though  in  minor  degrees.  This  leads  us 
to  the  price  that  has  to  be  paid  for  intercourse  with 
10 


146  DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH. 

persons  of  great  rank  and  wealth.  Ma}T  we  not  sus- 
pect that  there  is  a  heavy  price  of  some  kind,  since 
man}'  of  the  best  and  noblest  minds  in  the  world  either 
avoid  it  altogether  or  else  accept  it  cautiously  and  only 
with  a  very  few  rich  men  whom  they  esteem  independ- 
ently of  their  riches  ? 

The  answer  is  that  wealth  and  rank  expect  deference, 
not  so  much  humble  and  slavish  manners  as  that  in- 
tellectual deference  which  a  thinker  can  never  willingly 
give.  The  higher  the  rank  of  the  personage  the  more 
it  is  considered  ill-bred  to  contradict  him,  or  even  to 
have  an  opinion  of  your  own  in  his  presence.  This, 
to  a  thinker,  is  unendurable.  He  does  not  see  that 
because  a  person  is  rich  and  noble  his  views  on  eveiy- 
thing  must  be  the  best  and  soundest  views. 

You,  my  dear  Aristophilus,  who  by  your  pleasing 
manners  are  so  well  fitted  for  the  very  best  society, 
could  give  interesting  answers  to  the  following  ques- 
tions :  Have  you  never  found  it  advisable  to  keep 
silence  when  your  wealthy  host  was  saying  things 
against  which  you  inwardly  protested  ?  Have  you  not 
sometimes  gone  a  step  further,  and  given  a  kind  of 
assent  to  some  opinion  that  was  not  jTour  own?  Have 
you  not,  by  practice,  attained  the  power  of  giving  a 
still  stronger  and  heartier  assent  to  what  seemed  doubt- 
ful propositions  ? 

There  is  one  form  of  this  assent  which  is  deeply 
damaging  to  character.  Some  great  person,  a  great 
lady  perhaps,  unjustl}'  condemns,  in  3~our  presence,  a 
public  man  for  whom  you  have  a  sincere  respect.  In- 
stead of  boldly  defending  him,  you  remain  silent  and 


DIFFERENCES  OF  RANK  AND  WEALTH.   147 

acquiescent.  You  are  afraid  to  offend,  afraid  to  lose 
favor,  afraid  that  if  }*ou  spoke  openl}'  JTOU  would  not 
be  invited  to  the  great  house  any  more. 

Sometimes  not  a  single  individual  but  a  class  is 
attacked  at  once.  A  great  lady  is  reported  to  have 
said  that  she  "had  a  deep  objection  to  French  litera- 
ture in  all  its  branches."  Observe  that  this  expression 
of  opinion  contains  a  severe  censure  on  all  French 
authors  and  on  all  readers  of  French  literature.  Would 
you  have  ventured  to  say  a  word  in  their  defence? 
Would  3rou  have  dared  to  hint,  for  example,  that  a  seri- 
ous mind  might  be  none  the  worse  for  some  acquaint- 
ance with  Montesquieu  and  De  Tocqueville  ?  No,  sir, 
you  would  have  bowed  your  head  and  put  on  a  shocked 
expression  of  countenance. 

In  this  way,  little  by  little,  by  successive  abandon- 
ments of  what  we  think,  and  abdications  of  what  we 
know,  we  may  arrive  at  a  state  of  habitual  and  inane 
concession  that  softens  every  fibre  of  the  mind. 


148         THE  OBSTACLE  OF  LANGUAGE. 


ESSAY    XL 

THE  OBSTACLE  OF  LANGUAGE. 

greatest  impediment  to  free  intercourse  be- 
tween  nations  is  neither  distance  nor  the  differ- 
ences of  mental  habits,  nor  the  opposition  of  national 
interests ;  it  is  simply  the  imperfect  manner  in  which 
languages  are  usually  acquired,  and  the  lazy  content- 
ment of  mankind  with  a  low  degree  of  attainment  in 
a  foreign  tongue  when  a  much  higher  degree  of  attain- 
ment would  be  necessary  to  any  efficient  interchange 
of  ideas. 

It  seems  probable  that  much  of  the  future  happiness  of 
humanity  will  depend  upon  a  determination  to  learn  for- 
eign languages  more  thoroughly.  International  ill-will 
is  the  parent  of  innumerable  evils.  From  the  intellect- 
ual point  of  view  it  is  a  great  evil,  because  it  narrows 
our  range  of  ideas  and  deprives  us  of  light  from  foreign 
thinkers.  From  the  commercial  point  of  view  it  is  an 
evil,  because  it  leads  a  nation  to  deny  itself  conveniences 
in  order  to  avoid  the  dreaded  result  of  doing  good  to 
another  country.  From  the  political  point  of  view  it 
is  an  enormous  evil,  because  it  leads  nations  to  make 
war  upon  each  other  and  to  inflict  and  endure  all  the 
horrors,  the  miseries,  the  impoverishment  of  war  rather 
than  make  some  little  concession  on  one  side  or  on  both 
sides  that  would  have  been  made  with  little  difficulty 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE.         149 

if  the  spirit  of  the  two  countries  had  been  more  friendly, 
May  we  not  believe  that  a  more  general  spirit  of  friend- 
liness would  result  from  more  personal  intercourse,  and 
that  this  would  be  the  consequence  of  more  thorough 
linguistic  acquirement? 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  an  inexpressible  mis- 
fortune to  the  French  that  they  should  not  be  better 
acquainted  with  English  literature  ;  and  this  not  simply 
from  the  literary  point  of  view,  but  because  on  so  many 
questions  that  interest  active  minds  in  France  it  would 
be  such  an  advantage  to  those  minds  to  be  able  to  see 
how  those  questions  have  appeared  to  men  bred  in  a 
different  and  a  calmer  atmosphere.  If  the  French  read 
English  easily  they  might  often  avoid  (without  ceasing 
to  be  national)  many  of  those  errors  that  result  from 
seeing  things  only  from  a  single  point  of  view.  I  know  a 
few  intelligent  Frenchmen  who  do  read  our  most  thought- 
ful writers  in  the  original,  and  I  can  see  what  a  gain 
this  enlarged  experience  has  been  to  them.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  certain  that  good  French  literature  may  have 
an  excellent  effect  on  the  literary  training  of  an  English- 
man. The  careful  study  of  that  clear,  concise,  and 
moderate  French  writing  which  is  the  most  perfect 
flower  of  the  cultivated  national  mind  has  been  most 
beneficial  to  some  English  writers,  by  making  them  less 
clumsy,  less  tedious,  less  verbose. 

Of  commercial  affairs  it  would  be  presumptuous  in 
me  to  say  much,  but  no  one  disputes  that  international 
commerce  is  a  benefit,  and  that  it  would  not  be  possible 
without  a  class  of  men  who  are  acquainted  with  foreign 
languages.  On  this  class  of  men,  be  they  merchants 


150          THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE. 

or  corresponding  clerks,  the  commercial  intercourse 
between  nations  must  depend.  I  find  it  stated  by  for- 
eign tradesmen  that  if  they  were  better  acquainted  with 
the  English  language  much  trade  that  now  escapes  them 
might  be  made  to  pass  through  their  hands.  I  have 
myself  often  observed,  on  a  small  scale, that  transactions 
of  an  international  character  have  taken  place  because 
one  of  the  parties  happened  to  know  the  language  of 
the  other,  when  they  would  certainly  not  have  taken 
place  if  it  had  been  necessary  to  make  them  through  an 
agent  or  an  interpreter. 

With  regard  to  peace  and  war,  can  it  be  doubted  that 
the  main  reason  for  our  peaceful  relations  with  the 
United  States  lies  in  the  fact  of  our  common  language  ? 
We  may  have  newspaper  quarrels,  but  the  newspapers 
themselves  help  to  make  every  question  understood, 
It  is  far  harder  to  gain  acceptance  for  English  ideas  in 
France,  yet  even  our  relations  with  France  are  practi- 
cally more  peaceful  than  of  old,  and  though  there  is 
intense  jealousy  between  the  two  countries,  they  under- 
stand each  other  better,  so  that  differences  which  would 
certainly  have  produced  bloodshed  in  the  days  of  Pitt, 
cause  nothing  worse  than  inkshed  in  the  days  of  Glad- 
stone. This  happy  result  may  be  attributed  in  great 
part  to  the  English  habit  of  learning  French  and  going 
to  Paris  or  to  the  south  of  France.  We  need  not  ex- 
pect any  really  cordial  understanding  between  the  two 
countries,  though  it  would  be  an  incalculable  benefit  to 
both.  That  is  too  much  to  be  hoped  for  ;  their  jealousy, 
on  both  sides,  is  too  irritable  and  too  often  inflamed 
afresh  by  new  incidents,  for  neither  of  them  can  stir 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE.         151 

a  foot  without  putting  the  other  out  of  temper ;  but  we 
may  hope  that  through  the  quietly  and  constantly  ex- 
erted influence  of  those  who  know  both  languages,  war 
may  be  often,  though  perhaps  not  alwa}rs,  avoided. 

Unfortunately  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  a  foreign 
language  is  of  little  use,  as  it  does  not  give  any  real 
freedom  of  intercourse.  Foreigners  do  not  open  their 
minds  to  one  who  blunders  about  their  meaning ;  the}' 
consider  him  to  be  a  .sort  of  child,  and  address  to  him 
"  easy  things  to  understand."  Their  confidence  is  only 
to  be  won  by  a  demonstration  of  something  like  equality 
in  intelligence,  and  nobody  can  give  proof  of  this  un- 
less he  has  the  means  of  making  his  thoughts  intelli- 
gible, and  even  of  assuming,  when  the  occasion  presents 
itself,  a  somewhat  bold  and  authoritative  tone.  People 
of  mature  and  superior  intellect,  but  imperfect  linguistic 
acquirements,  are  liable  to  be  treated  with  a  kind  of  con- 
descending indulgence  when  out  of  their  own  country, 
as  if  they  were  as  young  in  years  and  as  feeble  in 
power  of  thought  as  they  are  in  their  knowledge  of 
foreign  languages. 

The  extreme  rarity  of  that  degree  of  attainment  in 
a  foreign  language  which  deserves  to  be  called  mastery 
is  well  known  to  the  very  few  who  are  competent  to 
judge.  At  a  meeting  of  French  professors  Lord 
Houghton  said  that  the  wife  of  a  French  ambassador 
had  told  him  that  she  knew  only  three  Englishmen  who 
could  speak  French.  One  of  these  was  Sir  Alexander 
Cockburn,  another  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and  we  may 
presume  the  third  to  have  been  Lord  Houghton  himself. 
Amongst  men  of  letters  Lord  Houghton  only  knew  one. 


152          THE  OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE. 

Henry  Reeve,  the  editor  of  the  "  Edinburgh  Review" 
and  translator  of  the  works  of  De  Tocqueville.  He 
mentioned  Lord  Arthur  Russell  as  an  example  of  ac- 
complishment, but  he  is  "  quasi  French  by  V esprit, 
education,  and  marriage." 

On  reading  the  report  of  Lord  Houghton's  speech, 
I  asked  a  cultivated  Parisian  lady  (who  knows  English 
remarkably  well  and  has  often  been  in  England)  what 
her  own  experience  had  been.  After  a  little  hesitation 
she  said  it  had  been  exactly  that  of  the  French  ambas- 
sadress. She,  also,  had  met  with  three  Englishmen 
who  spoke  French,  and  she  named  them.  I  suggested 
several  others,  and  amongst  them  some  very  learned 
scholars,  merely  to  hear  what  she  would  say,  but  her 
answer  was  that  their  inadequate  power  of  expression 
compelled  them  to  talk  far  below  the  level  of  their 
abilities,  so  that  when  they  spoke  French  nobody  would 
suppose  them  to  be  clever  men.  She  also  affirmed  that 
they  did  not  catch  the  shades  of  French  expression,  so 
that  in  speaking  French  to  them  one  was  never  sure  of 
being  quite  accurately  understood. 

I  myself  have  known  many  French  people  who  have 
studied  English  more  or  less,  including  several  who 
read  English  authors  with  praiseworthy  industry,  but 
I  have  only  met  with  one  or  two  who  can  be  said  to 
have  mastered  the  language.  I  am  told  that  M.  Bel- 
jame,  the  learned  Professor  of  English  Literature  at  the 
Sorbonne,  has  a  wonderful  mastery  of  our  tongue. 
Man}'  French  professors  of  English  have  considerable 
historical  and  grammatical  knowledge  of  it,  but  that  is 
not  practical  mastery.  In  general,  the  knowledge  of 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE.         153 

English  attained  by  French  people  (not  without  more 
labor  than  the  result  would  show)  is  so  poor  and  insuffi- 
cient as  to  be  almost  useless. 

I  remember  an  accidental  circumstance  that  put  into 
my  hands  some  curious  materials  for  judging  of  the 
attainments  of  a  former  generation.  A  Belgian  lady, 
for  a  reason  that  has  no  concern  with  our  present  sub- 
ject, lent  me  for  perusal  an  important  packet  of  letters 
in  the  French  language  written  b}T  English  ladies  of  great 
social  distinction  about  the  date  of  Waterloo.  They 
showed  a  rough  familiarity  with  French,  but  no  knowl- 
edge of  its  finer  shades,  and  they  abounded  in  glaring 
errors.  The  effect  of  this  correspondence  on  my  mind 
was  that  the  writers  had  certainly  used  (or  abused)  the 
language,  but  that  they  had  never  condescended  to 
learn  it. 

These  and  other  experiences  have  led  me  to  divide 
progress  in  languages  into  several  stages,  which  I  place 
at  the  reader's  disposal  in  the  belief  that  they  may  be 
convenient  to  him  as  they  have  been  convenient  to  me. 

The  first  stage  in  learning  a  language  is  when  every 
sentence  is  a  puzzle  and  exercises  the  mind  like  a 
charade  or  a  conundrum.  There  are  people  to  whom 
this  kind  of  exercise  is  a  sport.  They  enjoy  the  puzzle 
for  its  own  sake  and  without  any  reference  to  the 
literary  value  of  the  sentence  or  its  preciousness  as  an 
utterance  of  wisdom.  Such  people  are  much  better 
adapted  to  the  early  stage  of  linguistic  acquirement 
than  those  who  like  reading  and  dislike  enigmas. 

The  excessive  slowness  with  which  one  works  in  this 
early  stage  is  a  cause  of  irritation  when  the  student 


154         THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE. 

interests  himself  in  the  thoughts  or  the  narrative,  be- 
cause what  comes  into  his  mind  in  a  given  time  is  so 
small  a  matter  that  it  seems  not  worth  while  to  go  on 
working  for  such  a  little  intellectual  income.  There- 
fore in  this  earlj-  stage  it  is  a  positive  disadvantage  to 
have  eager  literary  desires. 

In  the  second  stage  the  student  can  push  along  with 
the  help  of  a  translation  and  a  dictionary ;  but  this  is 
not  reading,  it  is  only  aided  construing.  It  is  disagree- 
able to  a  reader,  though  it  may  be  endured  b}^  one  who 
is  indifferent  to  reading.  This  may  be  made  clear  by 
reference  to  other  pursuits.  A  man  who  loves  rowing, 
and  who  knows  what  rowing  is,  does  not  like  to  pull  a 
slow  and  heavy  boat,  such  as  an  ordinary  Scottish 
Highlander  pulls  with  perfect  contentment.  So  a  man 
who  loves  reading,  and  knows  what  reading  is,  does  not 
like  the  heavy  work  of  laborious  translation.  This 
explains  the  fact  which  is  often  so  unintelligible  to 
parents,  that  boys  who  are  extremely  fond  of  reading 
often  dislike  their  classical  studies.  Grammar,  prosody, 
philology,  so  far  as  they  are  the  subjects  of  conscious 
attention  (which  they  are  with  all  pedagogues),  are  the 
rivals  of  literature,  and  so  it  happens  that  pedagogy  is 
unfavorable  to  literary  art.  It  is  only  when  the  sciences 
of  dissection  are  forgotten  that  we  can  enjoy  the  arts 
of  poetry  and  prose. 

If,  then,  the  first  stage  of  language-learning  requires 
rather  a  taste  for  solving  puzzles  than  a  taste  for  liter- 
ature, so  I  should  say  that  the  second  stage  requires 
rather  a  turn  for  grammatical  and  philological  con- 
siderations than  an  interest  in  the  ideas  or  an  apprecia- 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE.         155 

tion  of  the  style  of  great  authors.  The  most  favorable 
state  of  mind  for  progress  in  this  stage  is  that  of  a 
philologist ;  and  if  a  man  has  literary  tastes  in  great 
strength,  and  philological  tastes  in  a  minor  degree,  he 
will  do  well,  in  this  stage,  to  encourage  the  philologist 
in  himself  and  keep  his  love  of  literature  in  abeyance. 

In  the  third  stage  the  vocabular}r  has  become  rich 
enough  to  make  references  to  the  dictionary  less  fre- 
quent, and  the  student  can  read  with  some  degree  ot 
literary  enjoyment.  There  is,  however,  this  remaining 
obstacle,  that  even  when  the  reader  knows  the  words 
and  can  construe  well,  the  foreign  manner  of  saying 
things  still  appears  unnatural.  I  have  made  many 
inquiries  concerning  this  stage  of  acquirement  and  find 
it  to  be  very  common.  Men  of  fair  scholarship  in  Latin 
tell  me  that  the  Roman  way  of  writing  does  not  seem 
to  be  really  a  natural  way.  I  find  that  even  those 
Latin  works  which  were  most  familiar  to  me  in  youth, 
such  as  the  Odes  of  Horace,  for  example,  seem  unnatu- 
ral still,  though  I  may  know  the  meaning  of  every  word, 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  any  amount  of  labor  would 
ever  rid  me  of  this  feeling.  This  is  a  great  obstacle, 
and  not  the  less  that  it  is  of  such  a  subtle  and  intangible 
nature.1 

In  the  fourth  stage  the  mode  of  expression  seems 
natural,  and  the  words  are  perfectly  known,  but  the 
sense  of  the  paragraph  is  not  apparent  at  a  glance. 
There  is  the  feeling  of  a  slight  obstacle,  of  something 
that  has  to  be  overcome ;  and  there  is  a  remarkable 
counter-feeling  which  always  comes  after  the  paragraph 
1  Italian,  to  me,  seems  Latin  made  natural. 


156          THE  OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE. 

is  mastered.  The  reader  then  wonders  that  such  an 
obviously  intelligible  page  can  have  offered  any  opposi- 
tion whatever.  What  surprises  us  is  that  this  fourth 
stage  can  last  so  long  as  it  does.  It  seems  as  if  it 
would  be  so  easily  passed,  and  yet,  in  fact,  it  is  for 
most  persons  impassable. 

The  fifth  stage  is  that  of  perfection  in  reading.  It 
is  not  reached  by  eve^body  even  in  the  native  lan- 
guage itself.  The  reader  who  has  attained  it  sees  the 
contents  of  a  page  and  catches  their  meaning  at  a  glance 
even  before  he  has  had  time- to  read  the  sentences. 

This  condition  of  extreme  lucidity  in  a  language 
comes,  when  it  comes  at  all,  long  after  the  mere  acqui- 
sition of  it.  I  have  said  that  it  does  not  alwa}7s  come 
even  in  the  native  tongue.  Some  educated  people  take 
a  much  longer  time  than  others  to  make  themselves 
acquainted  with  the  contents  of  a  newspaper.  A  clever 
newspaper  reader  sees  in  one  minute  if  there  is  any- 
thing of  importance.  He  knows  what  articles  and 
telegrams  are  worth  reading  before  he  separates  the 
words. 

These  five  stages  refer  only  to  reading,  because  edu- 
cated people  learn  to  read  first  and  to  speak  afterwards. 
Uneducated  people  learn  foreign  languages  by  ear  in  a 
most  confused  and  blundering  way.  I  need  not  add 
that  they  never  master  them,  as  only  the  educated  ever 
master  their  native  tongue.  It  is  unnecessary  to  go 
through  the  stages  of  progress  in  conversation,  as  they 
are  in  a  great  degree  dependent  upon  reading,  though 
they  lag  behind  it ;  but  I  will  say  briefly  that  the  great- 
est of  all  difficulties  in  using  foreign  languages  is  to 


THE   OBSTACLE  OF  LANGUAGE.         157 

become  really  insensible  to  the  absurdities  that  they 
contain.  All  languages,  I  believe,  abound  in  absurd  ex- 
pressions ;  and  a  foreigner,  with  his  inconveniently  fresh 
perceptions,  can  hardly  avoid  being  tickled  by  them. 
He  cannot  use  the  language  seriously  without  having  first 
become  unconscious  of  these  things,  and  it  is  inexpres- 
sibly difficult  to  become  unconscious  of  something  that 
has  once  provoked  us  to  laughter.  Again,  it  is  most 
difficult  to  arrive  at  that  stage  when  foreign  expressions 
of  politeness  strike  us  no  more  and  no  less  than  they 
strike  the  native ;  or,  in  other  words,  it  is  most  difficult 
for  us  to  attach  to  them  the  exact  value  which  they 
have  in  the  country  where  the}'  prevail.  French  forms 
seem  absurdly  ceremonious  to  Englishmen ;  in  reality, 
they  are  onty  convenient,  but  the  difficulty  for  an  Eng- 
lishman is  to  feel  that  they  are  convenient.  There  are 
in  every  foreign  tongue  two  classes  of  absurdities,  — 
the  real  inherent  absurdities  to  which  the  natives  are 
blinded  by  habit,  though  they  are  seen  at  once  to  be 
comical  when  attention  is  directed  to  them,  and  the 
expressions  that  are  not  absurd  in  themselves  but  only 
seem  so  to  us  because  they  are  not  like  our  own. 

The  difficulty  of  becoming  insensible  to  these  things 
must  be  especially  great  for  humorous  people,  who  are 
constantly  on  the  look-out  for  subjects  of  odd  remarks. 
I  have  a  dear  friend  who  is  gifted  with  a  delightful 
genius  for  humor,  and  he  knows  a  little  French.  All 
that  he  has  acquired  of  that  language  is  used  by  him 
habitually  as  material  for  fun,  and  as  he  is  quite  inca- 
pable of  regarding  the  language  as  anything  but  a  funny 
way  of  talking,  he  cannot  make  any  progress  in  it.  If 


158          THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE. 

he  were  asked  to  read  prayers  in  French  the  idea  would 
seem  to  him  incongruous,  a  mingling  of  frivolous  with 
sacred  things.  Another  friend  is  serious  in  French 
because  he  knows  it  well,  and  therefore  has  become 
unconscious  of  its  real  or  apparent  absurdities,  but 
when  he  is  in  a  merry  mood  he  talks  Italian,  with 
which  he  is  much  less  intimately  acquainted,  so  that 
it  still  seems  droll  and  amusing. 

Many  readers  will  be  already  familiar  with  the  idea 
of  a  universal  language,  which  has  often  been  the  sub- 
ject of  speculation  in  recent  times,  and  has  even  been 
discussed  in  a  sort  of  informal  congress  connected  with 
one  of  the  universal  exhibitions.  Nobody  now  looks 
forward  to  anything  so  unlikely,  or  so  undesirable,  as 
the  abandonment  of  all  the  languages  in  the  world 
except  one.  What  is  considered  practicable  is  the  se- 
lection of  one  language  as  the  recognized  international 
medium,  and  the  teaching  of  that  language  everywhere 
in  addition  to  the  mother  tongue,  so  that  no  two  edu- 
cated men  could  ever  meet  without  possessing  the 
means  of  communication.  To  a  certain  degree  we 
have  this  already  in  French,  but  French  is  not  known 
so  generally,  or  so  perfectly,  as  to  make  it  answer  the 
purpose.  It  is  proposed  to  adopt  modern  Greek,  which 
has  several  great  advantages.  The  first  is  that  the  old 
education  has  familiarized  us  sufficiently  with  ancient 
Greek  to  take  away  the  first  sense  of  strangeness  in 
the  same  language  under  its  modern  form.  The  second 
is  that  everything  about  modern  arts  and  sciences,  and 
political  life,  and  trade,  can  be  said  easily  in  the  Greek 
of  the  present  da}*,  whilst  it  has  its  own  peculiar  interest 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  LANGUAGE.         159 

for  scholars.  The  third  reason  is  of  great  practical 
importance.  Greece  is  a  small  State,  and  therefore 
does  not  awaken  those  keen  international  jealousies 
that  would  be  inevitably  aroused  by  proposing  the  lan- 
guage of  a  powerful  State  to  be  learned,  without  reci- 
procity, bj'  the  youth  of  the  other  powerful  States.  It 
may  be  some  time  before  the  Governments  of  great 
nations  agree  to  promote  the  study  of  modern  Greek,  or 
any  other  living  language,  amongst  their  peoples ;  but 
if  all  who  feel  the  immense  desirableness  of  a  common 
language  for  international  intercourse  would  agree  to 
prepare  the  way  for  its  adoption,  the  time  might  not 
be  very  far  distant  when  statesmen  would  begin  to  con- 
sider the  question  within  the  horizon  of  the  practical. 
Let  us  try  to  imagine  the  difference  between  the  present 
Babel-confusion  of  tongues,  which  makes  it  a  mere 
chance  whether  we  shall  be  able  to  communicate  with 
a  foreigner  or  not,  and  the  sudden  facility  that  would 
result  from  the  possession  of  a  common  medium  of 
intercourse !  If  it  were  once  agreed  by  a  union  of 
nations  (of  which  the  present  Postal  Union  may  be 
the  forerunner)  that  the  learning  of  the  universal  lan- 
guage should  be  encouraged,  that  language  would  be 
learned  with  a  zest  and  eagerness  of  which  our  present 
languid  linguistic  attempts  give  but  a  faint  idea.  There 
would  be  such  powerful  reasons  for  learning  it !  All 
those  studies  that  interest  men  in  different  nations 
would  lead  to  intercommunication  in  the  common 
tongue.  Many  books  would  be  written  in  it,  to  be  cir- 
culated everywhere,  without  being  enfeebled  and  falsi- 
fied by  translation.  International  commerce  would  be 


160          THE   OBSTACLE  OF  LANGUAGE. 

transacted  by  its  means.  Travelling  would  be  enor- 
mously facilitated.  There  would  be  such  a  gain  to  hu- 
man intercourse  by  language  that  it  might  be  preferred, 
in  many  cases,  to  the  old-fashioned  international  inter- 
course by  means  of  bayonets  and  cannon-balls. 


THE  OBSTACLE  OF  RELIGION.          161 


ESSAY  XII. 

THE  OBSTACLE  OF  RELIGION. 

HUMAN  intercourse,  on  equal  terms,  is  difficult  or 
impossible  for  those  who  do  not  belong  to  that 
religion  which  is  dominant  in  the  country  where  they 
live.  The  tendency  has  always  been  either  to  exclude 
such  persons  from  human  intercourse  altogether  (a  fate 
so  hard  to  bear  during  a  whole  life-time  that  the}7  have 
often  compromised  the  matter  by  outward  conformity), 
or  else  to  maintain  some  degree  of  intercourse  with 
them  in  placing  them  at  a  social  disadvantage.  In 
barbarous  times  such  persons,  when  obstinate,  are 
removed  by  taking  away  their  lives ;  or  if  somewhat 
less  obstinate  they  are  effectual!}7  deterred  from  the 
profession  of  heretical  opinions  by  threats  of  the  most 
pitiless  punishments.  In  semi-barbarous  times  they 
are  paralyzed,  so  far  as  public  action  is  concerned,  by 
political  disabilities  expressly  created  for  their  incon- 
venience. In  times  which  pride  themselves  on  having 
completely  emerged  from  barbarism  political  disabilities 
are  almost  entirely  removed,  but  certain  class-exclusions 
still  persist,  by  which  it  is  arranged  (whilst  avoiding 
all  appearance  of  persecution)  that  although  heretics 
are  no  longer  banished  from  their  native  land  they  ma}7 
be  excluded  from  their  native  class,  and  either  deprived 
11 


162  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

of  human  intercourse  altogether,  or  left  to  seek  it  in 
classes  inferior  to  their  own. 

The  religious  obstacle  differs  from  all  other  obsta- 
cles in  one  remarkable  characteristic.  It  is  maintained 
only  against  honest  and  truth-speaking  persons.  Ex- 
emption from  its  operation  has  always  been,  and  is 
still,  uniform^  pronounced  in  favor  of  all  heretics  who 
will  consent  to  lie.  The  honorable  unbeliever  has 
always  been  treated  harshly ;  the  unbeliever  who  had 
no  sense  of  honor  has  been  freely  permitted,  in  every 
age,  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  abilities  for  his  own 
social  advancement.  For  him  the  religious  obstacle 
is  simply  non-existent  He  has  exactly  the  same 
chances  of  preferment  as  the  most  orthodox  Christian. 
In  Pagan  times,  when  public  religious  functions  were  a 
part  of  the  rank  of  great  la}Tmen,  unbelief  in  the  gods 
of  Otympus  did  not  hinder  them  from  seeking  and  ex- 
ercising those  functions.  Since  the  establishment  of 
Christianity  as  a  State  religion,  the  most  stringenth' 
framed  oaths  have  never  prevented  an  unscrupulous 
infidel  from  attaining  any  position  that  lay  within  reach 
of  his  wits  and  his  opportunities.  He  has  sat  in  the 
most  orthodox  Parliaments,  he  has  been  admitted  to 
Cabinet  councils,  he  has  worn  ro3ral  crowns,  he  has 
even  received  the  mitre,  the  Cardinal's  hat,  and  the 
Papal  tiara.  We  can  never  sufficiently  admire  the 
beautiful  order  of  society  by  which  heretic-plus-liar  is 
so  graciously  admitted  everywhere,  and  heretic-plus- 
honest  man  is  so  cautiousty  and  ingeniously  kept  out. 
It  is,  indeed,  even  more  advantageous  to  the  dishonest 
unbeliever  than  at  first  sight  appears  ;  for  not  only  does 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION.          163 

it  open  to  him  all  positions  accessible  to  the  orthodox, 
but  it  even  gives  him  a  noteworthy  advantage  over 
honest  orthodox}'  itself  by  training  him  daily  and 
hourly  in  dissimulation.  To  be  kept  constantly  in  the 
habit  of  dissimulation  on  one  subject  is  an  excellent 
discipline  in  the  most  serviceable  of  social  arts.  An 
atheist  who  reads  prayers  with  a  pious  intonation,  and 
is  exemplar}7  in  his  attendance  at  church,  and  who 
never  betra}'s  his  real  opinions  by  an  unguarded  word 
or  look,  though  alwa}*s  preserving  the  appearance  of 
the  simplest  candor,  the  most  perfect  openness,  is,  we 
may  be  sure,  a  much  more  formidable  person  to  con- 
tend with  in  the  affairs  of  this  world  than  an  honest 
Christian  who  has  never  had  occasion  to  train  himself 
in  habitual  imposture.  Yet  good  Christians  willingly 
admit  these  dangerous,  unscrupulous  rivals,  and  timidly 
exclude  those  truthful  heretics  who  are  only  honest, 
simple  people  like  themselves. 

After  religious  libert}'  has  been  nominally  established 
in  a  country  by  its  lawgivers,  its  enemies  do  not  con- 
sider themselves  defeated,  but  try  to  recover,  through 
the  unwritten  law  of  social  customs  and  observances, 
the  ground  they  have  lost  in  formal  legislation.  Hence 
we  are  never  sure  that  religious  liberty  will  exist 
within  the  confines  of  a  class  even  when  it  is  loudly 
proclaimed  in  a  nation  as  one  of  the  most  glorious  con- 
quests of  the  age.  It  is  often  enjoyed  very  imperfectly, 
or  at  a  great  cost  of  social  and  even  pecuniary  sacrifice. 
In  its  perfection  it  is  the  liberty  to  profess  openly,  and 
in  their  full  force,  those  opinions  on  religious  subjects 
which  a  man  holds  in  his  own  conscience,  and  without 


164  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

incurring  any  kind  of  punishment  or  privation  on  ac- 
count of  them,  legal  or  social.  For  example,  a  really 
sincere  member  of  the  Church  of  England  enjoys  perfect 
religious  liberty  in  England.1  He  can  openly  say  what 
he  thinks,  openly  take  part  in  religious  services  that  his 
conscience  approves,  and  without  incurring  the  slight- 
est legal  or  social  penalty  for  so  doing.  He  meets  with 
no  hindrance,  no  obstacle,  placed  in  the  path  of  his 
worldly  life  on  account  of  his  religious  views.  True 
liberty  is  not  that  which  is  attainable  at  some  cost, 
some  sacrifice,  but  that  which  we  can  enjoy  without 
being  made  to  suffer  for  it  in  any  way.  It  is  always 
enjo3'ed,  to  the  full,  by  every  one  whose  sincere  con- 
victions are  heartily  on  the  side  of  authority.  Sincere 
Roman  Catholics  enjoyed  perfect  religious  liberty  in 
Spain  under  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  in  England 
under  Mary  Tudor.  Even  a  Trappist  who  loves  the 

1  So  far  as  the  State  and  society  generally  are  concerned ;  but 
there  are  private  situations  in  which  even  a  member  of  the  State 
Church  does  not  enjoy  perfect  religious  liberty.  Suppose  the 
case  (I  am  describing  a  real  case)  of  a  lady  left  a  widow  and  in 
poverty.  Her  relations  are  wealthy  Dissenters.  They  offer  to 
provide  for  her  handsomely  if  she  will  renounce  the  Church  of 
England  and  join  their  own  sect.  Does  she  enjoy  religious  liberty  ? 
The  answer  depends  upon  the  question  whether  she  is  able  to 
earn  her  own  living  or  not.  If  she  is,  she  can  secure  religious 
freedom  by  incessant  labor ;  if  she  is  unable  to  earn  her  living  she 
will  have  no  religious  freedom,  although  she  belongs,  in  con- 
science, to  the  most  powerful  religion  in  the  State.  In  the  case 
I  am  thinking  of,  the  lady  had  the  honorable  courage  to  open  a 
little  shop,  and  so  remained  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England  ; 
but  her  freedom  was  bought  by  labor  and  was  therefore  not 
the  same  thing  as  the  best  freedom,  which  is  unernbittered  by 
sacrifice. 


THE  OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION.  165 

rule  of  his  order  enjoj'S  the  best  kind  of  liberty  within 
the  walls  of  his  monasteiy.  He  is  not  allowed  to  neg- 
lect the  prescribed  services  and  other  obligations ;  but 
as  he  feels  no  desire  to  neglect  them  he  is  a  free  agent, 
as  free  as  if  he  dwelt  in  the  Abbaye  de  Theleme  of 
Rabelais,  with  its  one  rule,  "Fay  ce  que  vouldras." 
We  ma}"  go  farther,  and  say  that  not  only  are  people 
whose  convictions  are  on  the  side  of  authority  perfectly 
free  agents,  but,  like  successful  artists,  they  are  re- 
warded for  doing  what  they  themselves  prefer.  They 
are  always  rewarded  by  the  approval  of  their  superiors 
and  very  frequently  by  opportunities  for  social  advance- 
ment that  are  denied  to  those  who  think  differently 
from  persons  in  authority. 

There  are  cases  in  which  liberty  is  less  complete  than 
this,  yet  is  still  spoken  of  as  liberty.  A  man  is  free  to 
be  a  Dissenter  in  England  and  a  Protestant  in  France. 
B}T  this  we  mean  that  he  will  incur  no  legal  disqualifica- 
tion for  his  opinions  ;  but  does  he  incur  no  social  penalty  ? 
The  common  answer  to  this  question  is  that  the  penalty 
is  so  slight  that  there  is  nothing  to  complain  of.  This 
depends  upon  the  particular  situation  of  the  Dissenter, 
because  the  penalty  is  applied  very  differently  in  dif- 
ferent cases,  and  may  vary  between  an  unperceived 
hindrance  to  an  undeveloped  ambition  and  an  insur- 
mountable obstacle  to  an  eager  and  aspiring  one.  To 
understand  this  thoroughly,  let  us  ask  whether  there  are 
any  positions  in  which  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land would  incur  a  penalty  for  leaving  it.  Are  there 
any  positions  that  are  social!}*  considered  to  be  incom- 
patible with  the  religious  profession  of  a  Dissenter  ? 


166  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

It  will  be  generally  admitted  that  royal  personages 
do  not  enjoy  an}'  religious  liberty  at  all.  A  royal  per- 
sonage must  profess  the  State  religion  of  his  country, 
and  it  is  so  well  understood  that  this  is  obligator}7  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  convictions  of  the  conscience 
that  such  personages  are  hardly  expected  to  have  any 
conscience  in  the  matter.  They  take  up  a  religion  as 
part  of  their  situation  in  the  world.  A  princess  may 
abjure  her  faith  for  that  of  an  imperial  lover,  arid  if  he 
dies  before  marriage  she  may  abjure  her  adopted  faith ; 
and  if  she  is  asked  again  in  marriage  she  may  abjure 
the  religion  of  her  girlhood  a  second  time  without  ex- 
citing comment,  because  it  is  well  understood  that  her 
private  convictions  ma}'  remain  undisturbed  by  such 
changes,  and  that  she  submits  to  them  as  a  necessity 
for  which  she  has  no  personal  responsibility.1  And 
whilst  princes  are  compelled  to  take  up  the  religion 
which  best  suits  their  worldly  interests,  they  are  not 
allowed  simply  to  bear  the  name  of  the  State  Church  but 
must  also  conform  to  its  services  with  diligent  regularity. 
In  many  cases  they  probably  have  no  objection  to  this, 
as  they  may  be  really  conscientious  members  of  the  State 
Church,  or  they  may  accept  it  in  a  general  way  as  an 
expression  of  duty  towards  God  (without  going  into 

1  The  phrase  adopted  by  Court  journalists  in  speaking  of  such 
a  conversion  is,  "  The  Princess  has  received  instruction  in  the 
religion  which  she  will  adopt  on  her  marriage,"  or  words  to  that 
effect,  just  as  if  different  and  mutually  hostile  religions  were  not 
more  contradictory  of  each  other  than  sciences,  and  as  if  a  person 
could  pass  from  one  religion  to  another  with  no  more  twisting 
and  wrenching  of  previous  beliefs  than  he  would  incur  in  passing 
from  botany  to  geology. 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION.  167 

dogmatic  details),  or  they  may  be  ready  and  willing  to 
conform  to  it  for  political  reasons,  as  the  best  means  of 
conciliating  public  opinion ;  but  however  this  may  be, 
all  human  fellowship,  so  far  as  religion  is  concerned, 
must,  for  them,  be  founded  on  deference  to  the  State 
religion  and  a  conciliator}*  attitude  towards  its  ministers. 
The  Court  circulars  of  different  countries  register  the  suc- 
cessive acts  of  outward  conformit}r  by  which  the  prince 
acknowledges  the  power  of  the  national  priesthood,  and 
it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  suspend  these  acts  of 
conformity  for  any  reason  except  illness.  The  daily 
account  of  the  life  of  a  French  sovereign  during  the 
hunting  season  used  to  be,  "  His  Majesty  heard  mass  ; 
His  Majesty  went  out  to  hunt."  Louis  XVIII.  had  to 
hear  mass  like  his  ancestors ;  but  after  the  long  High 
Mass  which  he  was  compelled  to  listen  to  on  Sundays, 
and  which  he  found  extremely  wearisome,  he  enjoyed 
a  compensation  and  a  consolation  in  talking  impiously 
to  his  courtiers,  and  was  maliciously  pleased  in  shock- 
ing pious  people  and  in  forcing  them  to  laugh  against 
their  conscience,  as  by  courtly  duty  bound,  at  the 
blasphemous  royal  jests.  This  is  one  of  the  great 
evils  of  a  compulsory  conformity.  It  drives  the  victim 
into  a  reaction  against  the  religion  that  tyrannizes  over 
him,  and  makes  him  imfa'-religious,  when  without  pres- 
sure he  would  have  been  simply  and  inoffensively  now- 
religious.  To  understand  the  pressure  that  weighs 
upon  royal  personages  in  this  respect,  we  have  only  to 
remember  that  there  is  not  a  sovereign  in  the  whole 
world  who  could  venture  to  say  openly  that  he  was  a 
conscientious  Unitarian,  and  would  attend  a  Unitarian 


1G8  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

place  of  worship.  If  a  King  of  England  held  Unita- 
rian opinions,  and  was  at  the  same  time  scrupulously 
honest,  he  would  have  no  resource  but  abdication, 
for  not  only  is  the  King  a  member  of  the  Anglican 
Church,  but  he  is  its  living  head.  The  sacerdotal 
position  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia  is  still  more 
marked,  and  he  can  no  more  avoid  taking  part  in  the 
fatiguing  ceremonies  of  the  orthodox  Greek  religion 
than  he  can  avoid  sitting  on  horseback  and  reviewing 
troops. 

The  religious  slavery  of  princes  is,  however,  exclu- 
sively in  ceremonial  acts  and  verbal  professions.  With 
regard  to  the  moral  side  of  religion,  with  regard  to 
every  religious  doctrine  that  is  practical^  favorable 
to  good  conduct,  exalted  personages  have  always  en- 
joyed an  astonishing  amount  of  liberty.  They  are  not 
free  to  hold  themselves  aloof  from  public  ceremonies, 
but  they  are  free  to  give  themselves  up  to  every  kind 
of  private  self-indulgence,  including  flagrant  sexual  im- 
moralities, which  are  readily  forgiven  them  by  a  loyal 
priesthood  and  an  admiring  populace,  if  only  they  show 
an  affable  condescension  in  their  manners.  Surely 
morality  is  a  part  of  Christianity ;  surety  it  is  as  un- 
christian an  act  to  commit  adultery  as  to  walk  out 
during  service-time  on  Sunday  morning ;  yet  adultery 
is  far  more  readily  forgiven  in  a  prince,  and  far  easier 
for  him,  than  the  merely  negative  religious  sin  of  absti- 
nence from  church-going.  Amongst  the  great  criminal 
sovereigns  of  the  world,  the  Tudors,  Bourbons,  Bona- 
partes,  there  has  never  been  any  neglect  of  ceremo- 
nies, but  they  have  treated  the  entire  moral  code  of 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION.  169 

Christianity  as  if  it  were  not  binding  on  persons  of 
their  degree. 

Every  hardship  is  softened,  at  least  in  some  measure, 
by  a  compensation ;  and  when  in  modern  times  a  man 
is  so  situated  that  he  has  no  outward  religious  liberty 
it  is  perfectly  understood  that  his  conformit}7  is  official, 
like  that  of  a  soldier  who  is  ordered  to  give  the  Host 
a  militar}"  salute  without  regard  for  his  private  opinion 
about  transubstantiation.  This  being  understood,  the 
religious  slavery  of  a  royal  personage  is  far  from  being 
the  hardest  of  such  slaveries.  The  hardest  cases  are 
those  in  which  there  is  every  appearance  of  liberty, 
whilst  some  subtle  secret  force  compels  the  slave  to  acts 
that  have  the  appearance  of  the  most  voluntary  sub- 
mission. There  are  many  positions  of  this  kind  in  the 
world.  They  abound  in  countries  where  the  right  of 
private  judgment  is  loudly  proclaimed,  where  a  man  is 
told  that  he  may  act  in  religious  matters  quite  freely 
according  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  whilst  he 
well  knows,  at  the  same  time,  that  unless  his  con- 
science happens  to  be  in  unison  with  the  opinions  of 
the  majority,  he  will  incur  some  kind  of  disability, 
some  social  paratysis,  for  having  obeyed  it. 

The  rule  concerning  the  ceremonial  part  of  religion 
appears  to  be  that  a  man's  liberty  is  in  inverse  propor- 
tion to  his  rank.  A  royal  personage  has  none  ;  he  must 
conform  to  the  State  Church.  An  English  nobleman 
has  two  churches  to  choose  from  :  he  ma}7  belong  to  the 
Church  of  England  or  the  Church  of  Rome.  A  simple 
private  gentleman,  a  man  of  good  family  and  moderate 
independent  fortune,  living  in  a  country  where  the  laws 


170  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

are  so  liberal  as  they  are  in  England,  and  where  on  the 
whole  there  is  so  little  bitterness  of  religious  hatred, 
might  be  supposed  to  enjoy  perfect  religious  liberty, 
but  he  finds,  in  a  practical  way,  that  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible for  him  to  do  otherwise  than  the  nobility.  He  has 
the  choice  between  Anglicanism  and  Romanism,  be- 
cause, though  untitled,  he  is  still  a  member  of  the 
aristocracy'. 

As  we  go  down  lower  in  the  social  scale,  to  the 
middle  classes,  and  particularly  to  the  lower  middle 
classes,  we  find  a  broader  liberty,  because  in  these 
classes  the  principle  is  admitted  that  a  man  may  be 
a  good  Christian  beyond  the  pale  of  the  State  Churches. 
The  liberty  here  is  real,  so  far  as  it  goes,  for  although 
these  persons  are  not  obliged  by  their  own  class  opinion 
to  be  members  of  a  State  Church,  as  the  aristocracy 
are,  they  are  not  compelled,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be 
Dissenters.  They  may  be  good  Churchmen,  if  they 
like,  and  still  be  middle-class  Englishmen,  or  they 
may  be  good  Methodists,  Baptists,  Independents,  and 
still  be  respectable  middle-class  Englishmen.  This 
permits  a  considerable  degree  of  freedom,  yet  it  is  still 
by  no  means  unlimited  freedom.  The  middle-class 
Englishman  allows  dissent,  but  he  does  not  encourage 
honesty  in  unbelief. 

There  is,  however,  a  class  in  English  society  in 
which  for  some  time  past  religious  liberty  has  been  as 
nearly  as  possible  absolute,  —  I  mean  the  working  popu- 
lation in  the  large  towns.  A  working-man  may  belong 
to  the  Church  of  England,  or  to  any  one  of  the  dissent- 
ing communities  ;  or,  if  he  does  not  believe  in  Christian- 


THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION.  171 

it}',  he  may  say  so  and  abstain  from  religious  Irvpocrisy 
of  all  kinds.  Whatever  his  opinions,  he  will  not  be 
regarded  very  coldly  on  account  of  them  by  persons 
of  his  own  class,  nor  prevented  from  marrying,  nor 
hindered  from  pursuing  his  trade. 

We  find,  therefore,  that  amongst  the  various  classes 
of  society,  from  the  highest  to  the  humblest,  religious 
liberty  increases  as  we  go  lower.  The  royal  family  is 
bound  to  conform  to  whatever  may  be  the  dominant 
religion  for  the  time  being  ;  the  nobility  and  gentry  have 
the  choice  between  the  present  dominant  faith  and  its 
predecessor ;  the  middle  class  has,  in  addition,  the 
libert}'  of  dissent ;  the  lower  class  has  the  liberty,  not 
only  of  dissent,  but  also  of  abstinence  and  negation. 
And  in  each  case  the  increase  of  liberty  is  real ;  it  is 
not  that  illusory  kind  of  extension  which  loses  in  one 
direction  the  freedom  that  it  wins  in  another.  All  the 
churches  are  open  to  the  plebeian  secularist  if  he 
should  ever  wish  to  enter  them. 

We  have  said  that  religious  liberty  increases  as  we 
go  lower  in  the  social  scale.  Let  us  consider,  now, 
how  it  is  affected  by  locality.  The  rule  may  be  stated 
at  once.  Religious  liberty  diminishes  with  the  num- 
ber of  inhabitants  in  a  place. 

However  humble  may  be  the  position  of  the  dweller 
in  a  small  village  at  a  distance  from  a  town,  he  must 
attend  the  dominant  church  because  no  other  will  be 
represented  in  the  place.  He  may  be  in  heart  a  Dis- 
senter, but  his  dissent  has  no  opportunity  of  expressing 
itself  by  a  different  form  of  worship.  The  laws  of  his 
country  may  be  as  liberal  as  you  please  ;  their  liberality 


172  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

is  of  no  practical  sendee  in  such  a  case  as  this  because 
religious  profession  requires  public  worship,  and  an 
isolated  family  cannot  institute  a  cult. 

If,  indeed,  there  were  the  liberty  of  abstinence  the 
evil  would  not  be  so  great.  The  liberty  of  rejection 
is  a  great  and  valuable  liberty.  If  a  particular  kind 
of  food  is  unsuited  to  my  constitution,  and  only  that 
kind  of  food  is  offered  me,  the  permission  to  fast  is 
the  safeguard  of  my  health  and  comfort.  The  loss  of 
this  negative  liberty  is  terrible  in  convivial  customs, 
when  the  victim  is  compelled  to  drink  against  his 
will. 

The  Dissenter  in  the  country  can  be  forced  to  con- 
form by  his  empk>3Ter  or  by  public  opinion,  acting 
indirectly.  The  master  may  avoid  sa}'ing,  UI  expect 
you  to  go  to  Church,"  but  he  may  say,  "  I  expect  you 
to  attend  a  place  of  worship,"  which  attains  precisely 
the  same  end  with  an  appearance  of  greater  liberality. 
Public  opinion  ma}7  be  realty  liberal  enough  to  tolerate 
many  different  forms  of  religion,  but  if  it  does  not 
tolerate  abstinence  from  public  services  the  Dissenter 
has  to  conform  to  the  dominant  worship  in  places  where 
there  is  no  other.  In  England  it  may  seem  that  there 
is  not  very  much  hardship  in  this,  as  the  Church  is  not 
extreme  in  doctrine  and  is  remarkably  tolerant  of 
variety,  yet  even  in  England  a  conscientious  Unitarian 
might  feel  some  difficulty  about  creeds  and  prayers 
which  were  never  intended  for  him.  There  are,  how- 
ever, harder  cases  than  those  of  a  Dissenter  forced  to 
conform  to  the  Church  of  England.  The  Church  of 
Rome  is  far  more  extreme  and  authoritative,  far  more 


THE   OBSTACLE    OF  RELIGION.  173 

sternly  repressive  of  human  reason ;  yet  there  are 
thousands  of  rural  places  on  the  Continent  where  relig- 
ious toleration  is  supposed  to  exist,  and  where,  never- 
theless, the  inhabitants  are  compelled  to  hear  mass  to 
avoid  the  imputation  of  absolute  irreligion.  A  man 
like  Wesley  or  Bunyan  would,  in  such  a  position,  have 
to  choose  between  apparent  Romanism  and  apparent 
Atheism,  if  indeed  the  village  opinion  did  not  take 
good  care  that  he  should  have  no  choice  in  the  matter. 

It  may  be  said  that  people  should  live  in  places 
where  their  own  form  of  worship  is  publicly  practised. 
No  doubt  man}'  do  so.  I  remember  an  Englishman 
belonging  to  a  Roman  Catholic  family  who  would  not 
spend  a  Sunday  in  an  out-of-the-way  place  in  Scotland 
because  he  could  not  hear  mass.  Such  a  person,  hav- 
ing the  means  to  choose  his  place  of  residence,  and  a 
faith  so  strong  that  religious  considerations  always 
came  first  with  him,  would  compel  eve r}- thing  to  give 
way  to  the  necessit}*  for  having  mass  every  Sunday, 
but  this  is  a  very  exceptional  case.  Ordinar}'  people 
are  the  victims  of  circumstances  and  not  their  masters. 

If  a  villager  has  little  religious  freedom  he  does  not 
greatly  enlarge  it  when  he  becomes  a  soldier.  He  has 
the  choice  between  the  Church  of  England  and  the 
Church  of  Rome.  In  some  countries  even  this  very 
moderate  degree  of  libert}r  is  denied.  Within  the  pres- 
ent century  Roman  Catholic  soldiers  were  compelled  to 
attend  Protestant  services  in  Prussia.  The  truth  is 
that  the  genuine  military  spirit  is  strongly  opposed  to 
individual  opinion  in  matters  of  religion.  Its  ideal  is 
that  every  detail  in  a  soldier's  existence  should  be 


174  THE   OBSTACLE   OF  RELIGION. 

settled  by  the  military  authorities,  his  religious  belief 
amongst  the  rest. 

What  may  be  truly  said  about  military  authority  in 
religious  matters  is  that  as  the  force  employed  is  per- 
fectly well  known,  —  as  it  is  perfectly  well  known  that 
soldiers  take  part  in  religious  services  under  compul- 
sion, —  there  is  no  hypocrisy  in  their  case,  especially 
where  the  conscription  exists,  and  therefore  but  slight 
moral  hardship.  Certainly  the  greatest  hardship  of 
all  is  to  be  compelled  to  perform  acts  of  conformity 
with  all  the  appearance  of  free  choice.  The  tradesman 
who  must  go  to  mass  to  have  customers  is  in  a  harder 
position  than  the  soldier.  For  this  reason,  it  is  better  for 
the  moral  health  of  a  nation,  when  there  is  to  be  compul- 
sion of  some  kind,  that  it  should  be  boldly  and  openly 
tyrannical ;  that  its  work  should  be  done  in  the  face  of 
day ;  that  it  should  be  outspoken,  uncompromising,  com- 
plete. To  tyranny  of  that  kind  a  man  may  give  way 
without  any  loss  of  self-respect,  he  yields  to  force 
mojeure  ;  but  to  that  viler  and  meaner  kind  of  tyranny 
which  keeps  a  man  in  constant  alarm  about  the  means 
of  earning  his  living,  about  the  maintenance  of  some 
wretched  little  peddling  position  in  society,  he  yields 
with  a  sense  of  far  deeper  humiliation,  with  a  feeling 
of  contempt  for  the  social  power  that  uses  such  miser- 
able means,  and  of  contempt  for  himself  also. 


PKIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  175 


ESSAY    XIII. 

PRIESTS    AND    WOMEN. 

PART  I.  —  SYMPATHY. 

WOMEN  hate  the  Inexorable.  They  like  a  condi- 
tion of  things  in  which  nothing  is  so  surely 
fixed  but  that  the  rule  may  be  broken  in  their  favor,  or 
the  hard  decision  reversed.  They  like  concession  for 
concession's  sake,  even  when  the  matter  is  of  slight 
importance.  A  woman  will  ask  a  favor  from  a  person 
iii  authority  when  a  man  will  shrink  from  the  attempt ; 
and  if  the  woman  gains  her  point  by  entreaty  she  will 
have  a  keen  and  peculiar  feminine  satisfaction  in  hav- 
ing successfully  exercised  what  she  feels  to  be  her  own 
especial  power,  to  which  the  strong,  rough  creature, 
man,  may  often  be  made  to  yield.  A  woman  will  go 
forth  on  the  most  hopeless  errands  of  intercession  and 
persuasion,  and  in  spite  of  the  most  adverse  circum- 
stances will  not  infrequently  succeed.  Scott  made 
admirable  use  of  this  feminine  tendency  in  the  "  Heart 
of  Mid-Lothian."  Jeanie  Deans,  with  a  woman's  feel- 
ings and  perseverance,  had  a  woman's  reliance  on  her 
own  persuasive  powers,  and  the  result  proved  that  she 
was  right.  All  things  in  a  woman  combine  to  make 
her  mighty  in  persuasion.  Her  very  weakness  aids 
her ;  she  can  assume  a  pitiful,  childlike  tenderness. 


176  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

Her  ignorance  aids  her,  as  she  seems  never  to  know 
that  a  decision  can  be  fixed  and  final ;  then  she  has 
tears,  and  besides  these  pathetic  influences  she  has 
generally  some  magnetism  of  sex,  some  charm  or  at- 
traction, at  least,  in  voice  or  manner,  and  sometimes 
she  has  that  marvellous  —  that  all  but  irresistible  — 
gift  of  beauty  which  has  ruled  and  ruined  the  masters 
of  the  world. 

Having  constantly  used  these  powers  of  persuasion 
with  the  strongest  being  on  this  planet,  and  used  them 
with  such  wonderful  success  that  it  is  even  now  doubt- 
ful whether  the  occult  feminine  government  is  not 
mightier  than  the  open  masculine  government,  whilst 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  doubt  at  all,  but  of  assured  fact, 
that  society  is  ruled  by  queens  and  ladies  and  not  by 
kings  and  lords,  —  with  all  these  evidences  of  their  in- 
fluence in  this  world,  it  is  intelligible  that  women  should 
willingly  listen  to  those  who  tell  them  that  the}r  have 
similar  influence  over  supernatural  powers,  and,  through 
them,  on  the  destinies  of  the  universe.  Far  less  will- 
ingly would  they  listen  to  some  hard  scientific  teacher 
who  should  say,  "No,  you  have  no  influence  be3'ond 
this  planet,  and  that  which  you  exercise  upon  its  sur- 
face is  limited  by  the  force  that  3'ou  are  able  to  set  in 
motion.  The  Empress  Eugenie  had  no  supernatural 
influence  through  the  Virgin  Maiy,  but  she  had  great 
and  dangerous  natural  influence  through  her  husband ; 
and  it  may  be  true,  what  is  asserted,  that  she  caused 
in  this  way  a  disastrous  war."  An  exclusively  origi- 
nating Intelligence,  acting  at  the  beginning  of  Evolu- 
tion,—  a  setter-in-motion  of  a  prodigious  self-acting 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  177 

machinery  of  cause  producing  effect,  and  effects  in  their 
turn  becoming  a  new  complexity  of  causes,  —  an  Intel- 
ligence that  we  cannot  persuade  because  we  are  born 
millions  of  years  too  late  for  the  first  impulse  that 
started  all  things,  —  this  may  be  the  God  of  the  future, 
but  it  will  be  a  distant  future  before  the  world  of  women 
will  acknowledge  him. 

There  is  another  element  in  the  feminine  nature  that 
urges  women  in  the  same  direction.  They  have  a  con- 
stant sense  of  dependence  in  a  degree  hardly  ever 
experienced  by  men  except  in  debilitating  illness ;  and 
as  this  sense  of  dependence  is  continual  with  them 
and  only  occasional  with  us,  it  becomes,  from  habit, 
inseparable  from  their  mental  action,  whereas  even  in 
sickness  a  man  looks  forward  to  the  time  when  he  will 
act  again  freely  for  himself.  Men  choose  a  course  of 
action  ;  women  choose  an  adviser.  They  feel  them- 
selves unable  to  continue  the  long  conflict  without  help, 
and  in  spite  of  their  great  patience  and  courage  they 
are  easily  saddened  by  solitude,  and  in  their  distress  of 
mind  they  feel  an  imperious  need  for  support  and  con- 
solation. "Our  valors  are  our  best  gods,"  is  a  purely 
masculine  sentiment,  and  to  a  woman  such  self-reliance 
seems  scarcely  distinguishable  from  impiety.  The  fem- 
inine counterpart  of  that  would  be,  "  In  our  weakness 
we  seek  refuge  in  Thy  strength,  O  Lord !  " 

A  woman  is  not  satisfied  with  merely  getting  a  small 
share  in  a  vast  bount}r  for  the  general  good ;  she  is 
kind  and  affectionate  herself,  she  is  personally  attentive 
to  the  wants  of  children  and  animals,  and  cares  for  each 
of  them  separately,  and  she  desires  to  be  cared  for  in 
12 


178  PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN. 

the  same  way.  The  philosopher  does  not  give  her  any 
assurance  of  this  whatever ;  but  the  priest,  on  the  con- 
trary, gives  it  in  the  most  positive  form.  It  is  not 
merely  one  of  the  doctrines  of  religion,  but  the  central 
doctrine,  the  motive  for  all  religious  exercises,  that 
God  cares  for  every  one  of  us  individually ;  that  he 
knows  Jane  Smith  b}r  name,  and  what  she  is  earning 
a  week,  and  how  much  of  it  she  devotes  to  keeping  her 
poor  paratyzed  old  mother.  The  philosopher  sa}*s,  u  If 
you  are  prudent  and  skilful  in  your  conformity  to  the 
laws  of  life  you  will  probably  secure  that  amount  of 
mental  and  physical  satisfaction  which  is  attainable  by 
a  person  of  your  organization."  There  is  nothing  in 
this  about  personal  interest  or  affection ;  it  is  a  bare 
statement  of  natural  cause  and  consequence.  The 
priest  holds  a  very  different  language  ;  the  use  of  the 
one  word  love  gives  warmth  and  color  to  his  discourse. 
The  priest  says,  "  If  you  love  God  with  all  your  soul 
and  with  all  your  strength  He  will  love  and  cherish  you 
in  return,  and  be  your  own  true  and  tender  Father. 
He  will  watch  over  every  detail  and  every  minute  of 
your  existence,  guard  you  from  all  real  evil,  and  at 
last,  when  this  earthly  pilgrimage  shall  be  over,  He 
will  welcome  you  in  His  eternal  kingdom."  But  this 
is  not  all ;  God  may  still  seem  at  too  unapproachable 
a  distance.  The  priest  then  says  that  means  have 
been  divinely  appointed  to  bridge  over  that  vast  abyss. 
u  The  Father  has  given  us  the  Son,  and  Christ  has 
instituted  the  Church,  and  the  Church  has  appointed 
me  as  her  representative  in  this  place,  —  me,  to  whom 
you  may  come  always  for  guidance  and  consolation  that 
will  never  be  refused  you." 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  179 

This  is  the  language  for  which  the  ears  of  a  woman 
thirst  as  parched  flowers  thirst  for  the  summer  rain. 
Instead  of  a  great,  blank  universe  with  fixed  laws, 
Interesting  to  savans  but  not  to  her,  she  is  told  of 
love  and  affection  that  she  thoroughly  understands. 
She  is  told  of  an  affectionate  Creator,  of  His  beloved 
and  loving  Son,  of  the  tender  care  of  the  maternal 
Church  that  He  instituted  ;  and  finally  all  this  chain  of 
affectionate  interest  ends  close  to  her  in  a  living  link, 
—  a  man  with  soft,  engaging  manners,  with  kind  and 
gentle  voice,  who  takes  her  hand,  talks  to  her  about 
all  that  she  really  cares  for,  and  overflows  with  the 
readiest  sympathy  for  ah1  her  anxieties.  This  man  is 
so  different  from  common  men,  so  very  much  better 
and  purer,  and,  above  all,  so  much  more  accessible, 
communicative,  and  consolatory !  He  seems  to  have 
had  so  much  spiritual  experience,  to  know  so  well  what 
trouble  and  sorrow  are,  to  sympathize  so  complete!}' 
with  the  troubles  and  sorrows  of  a  woman  !  With  him, 
the  burden  of  life  is  ten  times  easier  to  bear ;  without 
his  precious  fellowship,  that  burden  would  be  heavy 
indeed ! 

It  may  be  objected  to  this,  that  the  clergy  do  not 
entirely  teach  a  religion  of  love  ;  that,  in  fact,  they  curse 
as  well  as  bless,  and  foretell  eternal  punishment  for  the 
majority.  All  this,  it  may  be  thought,  must  be  as  pain- 
ful to  the  feelings  of  women  as  Divine  kindness  and 
human  felicity  must  be  agreeable  to  them.  Whoever 
made  this  objection  would  show  that  he  had  not  quite 
understood  the  feminine  nature.  It  is  at  the  same 
time  kinder  and  tenderer  than  the  masculine  nature, 


180  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

and  more  absolute  in  vindictiveness.  Women  do  not 
generally  like  the  infliction  of  pain  that  they  believe 
to  be  undeserved ; 1  they  are  not  generally  advocates 
for  vivisection ;  but  as  their  feelings  of  indignation 
against  evil-doers  are  very  easily  aroused,  and  as  they 
are  very  easily  persuaded  that  severe  punishments  are 
just,  they  have  often  heartily  assented  to  them  even 
when  most  horrible.  In  these  cases  their  satisfaction, 
though  it  seems  to  us  ferocious,  may  arise  from  feeling 
themselves  God's  willing  allies  against  the  wicked. 
When  heretics  were  burnt  in  Spain  the  great  ladies 
gazed  calmly  from  their  windows  and  balconies  on  the 
grotesque  procession  of  miserable  morituri  with  flames 
daubed  on  their  tabards,  so  soon  to  be  exchanged  for 
the  fiery  reality.  With  the  influence  that  women  pos- 
sess they  could  have  stopped  those  horrors ;  but  they 
countenanced  them ;  and  yet  there  is  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  the}7  were  not  gentle,  tender,  affectionate. 
The  most  relentless  persecutor  who  ever  sat  on  the 
throne  of  England  was  a  woman.  Nor  is  it  only  in 
ages  of  fierce  and  cruel  persecution  that  women  readily 
believe  God  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  oppressor.  Other 
ages  succeed  in  which  human  injustice  is  not  so  bold 
and  bloodthirsty,  not  so  candid  and  honest,  but  more 
stealthily  pursues  its  end  by  hampering  and  paralyzing 
the  victim  that  it  dares  not  openly  destroy.  It  places 

1  The  word  "generally"  is  inserted  here  because  women  do 
apparently  sometimes  enjoy  the  infliction  of  undeserved  pain  on 
other  creatures.  They  grace  bull-fights  with  their  presence,  and 
will  see  horses  disembowelled  with  apparent  satisfaction.  It  may 
be  doubted,  too,  whether  the  Empress  of  Austria  has  any  com- 
passion for  the  sufferings  of  a  fox. 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  181 

a  thousand  little  obstacles  in  his  way,  the  well-calcu- 
lated effect  of  which  is  to  keep  him  alive  in  impotent 
insignificance.  In  those  ages  of  weaker  malevolence 
the  heretic  is  quietly  but  carefully  excluded  from  the 
best  educational  and  social  advantages,  from  public 
office,  from  political  power.  Wherever  he  turns,  what- 
ever he  desires  to  do,  he  feels  the  presence  of  a  mys- 
terious invisible  force  that  quietly  pushes  him  aside  or 
keeps  him  in  shadow.  Well,  in  this  milder,  more  coldly 
cruel  form  of  wrong,  vast  numbers  of  the  gentlest  and 
most  amiable  women  have  alwaj's  been"  ready  to 
acquiesce.1 

I  willingly  pass  from  this  part  of  the  subject,  but  it 

1  I  have  purposely  omitted  from  the  text  another  cause  for 
feminine  indifference  to  the  work  of  persecutors,  but  it  may  be 
mentioned  incidentally.  At  certain  times  those  women  whose 
influence  on  persons  in  authority  might  have  been  effectively 
employed  in  favor  of  the  oppressed  were  too  frivolous  or  even 
too  licentious  for  their  thoughts  to  turn  themselves  to  any  such 
serious  matter.  This  was  the  case  in  England  under  Charles  II. 
The  contrast  between  the  occupations  of  such  women  as  these 
and  the  sufferings  of  an  earnest  man  has  been  aptly  presented  by 
Macaulay :  — 

"  The  ribaldry  of  Etherege  and  Wycherley  was,  in  the  presence  and 
under  the  special  sanction  of  the  head  of  the  Church,  publicly  recited  by 
female  lips  in  female  ears,  while  the  author  of  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress  ' 
languished  in  a  dungeon,  for  the  crime  of  proclaiming  the  gospel  to  the 
poor." 

This  is  deplorable  enough ;  but  on  the  whole  I  do  not  think 
that  the  frivolity  of  light-minded  women  has  been  so  harmful  to 
noble  causes  as  the  readiness  with  which  serious  women  place 
their  immense  influence  at  the  service  of  constituted  authorities, 
however  wrongfully  those  authorities  may  act.  Ecclesiastical 
authorities  especially  may  quietly  count  upon  this  kind  of  support, 
and  they  always  do  so. 


182  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

was  impossible  not  to  make  one  sad  reference  to  it,  for 
of  all  the  sorrowful  things  in  the  history  of  the  world 
I  see  none  more  sorrowful  than  this,  —  that  the  enor- 
mous influence  of  women  should  not  have  been  more 
on  the  side  of  justice.  It  is  perhaps  too  much  to  expect 
that  the}'  should  have  placed  themselves  in  advance  of 
their  age,  but  the}*  have  been  innocent  abettors  and  per- 
petuators  of  the  worst  abuses,  and  all  from  their  prone- 
ness  to  support  any  authority,  however  corrupt,  if  only 
it  can  succeed  in  confounding  itself  with  goodness. 

As  the  representatives  of  a  Deity  who  tenderly  cares 
for  every  one  of  His  creatures,  the  clergy  themselves 
are  bound  to  cultivate  all  their  own  powers  and  gifts  of 
sympathy.  The  best  of  them  do  this  with  the  impor- 
tant result  that  after  some  years  spent  in  the  exercise 
of  their  profession  they  become  really  and  unaffectedly 
more  sympathetic  than  laymen  generally  are.  The 
power  of  sympathy  is  a  great  power  everywhere,  but 
it  is  so  particularly  in  those  countries  where  the  laity 
are  not  much  in  the  habit  of  cultivating  the  sympa- 
thetic feelings,  and  timidly  shrink  from  the  expression 
of  them  even  when  they  exist.  I  remember  going  with 
a  French  gentleman  to  visit  a  lady  who  had  very  re- 
cently lost  her  father ;  and  my  friend  made  her  a  little 
speech  in  which  he  said  no  more  than  what  he  felt,  but 
he  said  it  so  elegantly,  so  delicately,  so  appropriately, 
and  in  such  feeling  terms,  that  I  envied  him  the  talent 
of  expressing  condolence  in  that  way.  I  never  knew 
an  English  layman  who  could  have  got  through  such 
an  expression  of  feeling,  but  I  have  known  English 
clergymen  who  could  have  done  it.  Here  :«s  a  very 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  183 

great  and  real  superiority  over  us,  and  especially  with 
women,  because  women  are  exquisitely  alive  to  every-- 
thing  in  which  the  feelings  are  concerned,  and  we  often 
seem  to  them  dead  in  feeling  when  we  are  only  awk- 
ward, and  dumb  by  reason  of  our  awkwardness. 

I  think  it  probable  that  most  readers  of  this  page 
will  find,  on  consulting  their  own  recollections,  that  they 
have  received  warmer  and  kinder  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy from  clerical  friends  than  from  Ia3*men.  It  is 
certainly  so  in  my  own  case.  On  looking  back  to  the 
expressions  of  sympathy  that  have  been  addressed  to 
me  on  mournful  occasions,  and  of  rejoicing  on  happy 
ones,  I  find  that  the  clearest  and  most  ample  and  hearty 
utterances  of  these  feelings  have  generally  come  either 
from  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England,  or  priests 
of  the  Church  of  Rome. 

The  power  of  sympathy  in  clergymen  is  greatly  in- 
creased by  their  easy  access  to  all  classes  of  society. 
They  are  received  everywhere  on  terms  which  may  be 
correctly  defined  as  easily  respectful ;  for  their  sacred 
character  gives  them  a  status  of  their  own,  which  is 
neither  raised  by  association  with  rich  people  nor  de- 
graded by  friendliness  with  the  poor  or  with  that  lower 
middle  class  which,  of  all  classes,  is  the  most  perilous 
to  the  social  position  of  a  Ia3*man.  They  enter  into 
the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  most  different  orders  of 
parishioners,  and  in  this  wa}T,  if  there  is  any  natural 
gift  of  sympathy  in  the  mind  of  a  clergyman,  it  is  likely 
to  be  developed  and  brought  to  perfection. 

Partly  b}r  arrangements  conscious!}*  devised  by  ecclesi- 
astical authorities,  and  partly  by  the  natural  force  of 


184  PRIESTS  AMD    WOMEN. 

circumstances,  the  work  of  the  Church  is  so  ordered  that 
her  representatives  are  sure  to  be  present  on  the  most 
important  occasions  in  human  life.  This  gives  them 
some  influence  over  men,  but  that  which  they  gain  by 
it  over  women  is  immeasurably  greater,  because  the 
minds  of  women  are  far  more  closety  and  exclusive!}7 
bound  up  in  domestic  interests  and  events. 

Of  these  the  most  visibly  important  is  marriage. 
Here  the  priest  has  his  assured  place  and  conspicuous 
function,  and  the  wonderful  thing  is  that  this  function 
seems  to  survive  the  religious  beliefs  on  which  it  was 
originally  founded.  It  seems  to  be  hot  impossible  that 
a  Church  might  still  survive  for  an  indefinite  length  of 
time  in  the  midst  of  surrounding  scepticism  simply  for 
the  purpose  of  performing  marriage  and  funeral  rites. 
The  strength  of  the  clerical  position  with  regard  to  mar- 
riage is  so  great,  even  on  the  Continent,  that,  although 
a  woman  may  have  scarcely  a  shred  of  faith  in  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Church,  it  is  almost  certain  that  she  will 
desire  the  services  of  a  priest,  and  not  feel  herself  to 
be  really  married  without  them.  Although  the  civil 
ceremony  may  be  the  only  one  recognized  by  the  law, 
the  woman  openly  despises  it,  and  reserves  all  her  feel- 
ings and  emotions  for  the  pompous  ceremony  at  the 
church.  On  such  occasions  women  laugh  at  the  law, 
and  will  even  sometimes  declare  that  the  law  itself  is 
not  legal.  I  once  happened  to  sa}'  that  civil  marriage 
was  obligatory  in  France,  but  only  legal  in  England ; 
on  which  an  English  lady  attacked  me  vehemently,  and 
stoutly  denied  that  civil  marriage  was  legal  in  England 
at  all.  I  asked  if  she  had  never  heard  of  marriages 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  185 

in  a  Registrar's  office.  "Yes,  I  have,"  she  answered, 
with  a  shocked  expression  of  countenance,  "but  the}' 
are  not  legal.  The  Church  of  England  does  not  recog- 
nize them,  and  that  is  the  legal  church." 

As  soon  as  a  child  is  born  the  mother  begins  to  think 
about  its  baptism ;  and  at  a  time  of  life  when  the  infant 
is  treated  by  la}rmen  as  a  little  being  whose  importance 
lies  entirely  in  the  future  the  clergyman  gives  it  conse- 
quence in  the  present  by  admitting  it,  with  solemn  cere- 
mony, to  membership  in  the  Church  of  Christ.  It  is 
not  possible  to  imagine  anything  more  likely  to  gratify 
the  feelings  of  a  mother  than  this  early  admission  of 
her  unconscious  offspring  to  the  privileges  of  a  great 
religious  community.  Before  this  great  initiation  it 
was  alone  in  the  world,  loved  only  by  her,  and  with 
all  its  prospects  darkened  by  original  sin ;  now  it  is 
purified,  blessed,  admitted  into  the  fellowship  of  the 
holy  and  the  wise.  A  certain  relationship  of  a  peculiar 
kind  is  henceforth  established  between  priest  and  in- 
fant. In  after  years  he  prepares  it  for  confirmation, 
another  ceremony  touching  to  the  heart  of  a  mother 
when  she  sees  her  son  gravel}'  taking  upon  himself  the 
responsibilities  of  a  thinking  being.  The  marriage  of 
a  son  or  daughter  renews  in  the  mother  all  those  feel- 
ings towards  the  friendly,  consecrating  power  of  the 
Church  which  were  excited  at  her  own  marriage. 

Then  come  those  anxious  occasions  when  the  malacty 
of  one  member  of  the  family  casts  a  shadow  on  the 
happiness  of  all.  In  these  cases  any  clerg}'man  who 
unites  natural  kindness  of  heart  with  the  peculiar 
training  and  experience  of  his  profession  can  offer 


186  PfilESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

consolation  incomparably  better  than  a  layman ;  he  is 
more  accustomed  to  it,  more  authorized.  A  friendly 
physician  is  a  great  help  and  a  great  stay  so  long  as 
the  disease  is  not  alarming,  but  when  he  begins  to  look 
very  grave  (the  reader  knows  that  look),  and  says  that 
recovery  is  not  probable,  by  which  physicians  mean  that 
death  is  certain  and  imminent,  the  clergyman  says 
there  is  hope  still,  and  speaks  of  a  life  beyond  the 
grave  in  which  human  existence  will  be  delivered  from 
the  evils  that  afflict  it  here.  When  death  has  come, 
the  priest  treats  the  dead  body  with  respect  and  the 
survivors  with  sj'mpath}",  and  when  it  is  laid  in  the 
ground  he  is  there  to  the  last  moment  with  the  majesty 
of  an  ancient  and  touching  form  of  words  already  pro- 
nounced over  the  graves  of  millions  who  have  gone  to 
their  everlasting  rest.1 

1  Since  this  Essay  was  written  I  have  met  with  the  following 
passage  in  Her  Majesty's  diary,  which  so  accurately  describes  the 
consolatory  influence  of  clergymen,  and  the  natural  desire  of 
women  for  the  consolation  given  by  them,  that  I  cannot  refrain 
from  quoting  it.  The  Queen  is  speaking  of  her  last  interview 
with  Dr.  Norman  Macleod  :  — 

"He  dwelt  then,  as  always,  on  the  love  and  goodness  of  God,  and  on 
his  conviction  that  God  would  give  us,  in  another  life,  the  means  to  per- 
fect ourselves  and  to  improve  gradually.  No  one  ever  felt  so  convinced, 
and  so  anxious  as  he  to  convince  others,  that  God  was  a  loving  Father 
who  wished  all  to  come  to  Him,  and  to  preach  of  a  living  personal 
Saviour,  One  who  loved  us  as  a  brother  and  a  friend,  to  whom  all  could 
and  should  come  with  trust  and  confidence.  No  one  ever  raised  and 
strengthened  one's  faith  more  than  Dr.  Macleod.  His  own  faith  was  so 
strong,  his  heart  so  large,  that  all  —  high  and  low,  weak  and  strong,  the 
erring  and  the  good  —  could  alike  find  sympathy,  help,  and  consolation 
from  him.1' 

*'  How  I  loved  to  talk  to  him,  to  ask  his  advice,  to  speak  to  him  of  my 
sorrows  and  anxieties." 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  187 

PART  II.    ART. 

I  HAVE  not  yet  by  any  means  exhausted  the  advan- 
tages of  the  priestly  position  in  its  influence  upon 
women.  If  the  reader  will  reflect  upon  the  feminine 
nature  as  he  has  known  it,  especially  in  women  of 
the  best  kind,  he  will  at  once  admit  that  not  only  are 
women  more  readity  moved  by  the  expression  of  sym- 
pathy than  men,  and  more  grateful  for  it,  but  they  are 
also  more  alive  to  poetical  and  artistic  influences.  In 
our  sex  the  aesthetic  instinct  is  occasionally  present 
in  great  strength,  but  more  frequently  it  is  altogether 
absent ;  in  the  female  sex  it  seldom  reaches  much  crea- 
tive force,  but  it  is  almost  invariably  present  in  minor 
degrees.  Almost  all  women  take  an  interest  in  fur- 
niture and  dress ;  most  of  them  in  the  comfortable 

A  little  farther  on  in  the  same  diary  Her  Majesty  speaks  of  Dr. 
Maeleod's  beneficial  influence  upon  another  lady  :  — 

"  He  had  likewise  a  marvellous  power  of  winning  people  of  all  kinds, 
and  of  sympathizing  with  the  highest  and  with  the  humblest,  and  of 
soothing  and  comforting  the  sick,  the  dying,  the  afflicted,  the  erring, 
and  the  doubting.  A  friend  of  mine  told  me  that  if  she  were  in  great 
trouble,  or  sorrow,  or  anxiety,  Dr.  Norman  Macleod  was  the  person  she 
would  wish  to  yo  to.'1 

The  two  points  to  be  noted  in  these  extracts  are:  first,  the  faith 
in  a  loving  God  who  cares  for  each  of  His  creatures  individually 
(not  acting  only  by  general  laws);  and,  secondly,  the  way  in  which 
tlie  woman  goes  to  the  clergyman  (whether  in  formal  confession  or 
confidential  conversation)  to  hear  consolatory  doctrine  from  his 
lips  in  application  to  her  own  personal  needs.  The  faith  and  the 
tendency  are  both  so  natural  in  women  that  they  could  only  cease 
in  consequence  of  the  general  and  most  improbable  acceptance  by 
women  of  the  scientific  doctrine  that  the  Eternal  Energy  is  inva- 
riably regular  in  its  operations  and  inexorable,  and  that  the  priest 
has  no  clearer  knowledge  of  its  inscrutable  nature  than  the  layman. 


188  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

classes  have  some  knowledge  of  music ;  drawing  has 
been  learned  as  an  accomplishment  more  frequently 
b}r  girls  than  by  boys.  The  clergy  have  a  strong  hold 
upon  the  feminine  nature  by  its  aesthetic  side.  All  the 
external  details  of  public  worship  are  profoundly  inter- 
esting to  women.  When  there  is  any  splendor  in  ritual 
the  details  of  vestments  and  altar  decorations  are  a 
constant  occupation  for  their  thoughts,  and  they  fre- 
quently bestow  infinite  labor  and  pains  to  produce 
beautiful  things  with  their  own  hands  to  be  used  in 
the  service  of  the  Church.  In  cases  where  the  service 
itself  is  too  austere  and  plain  to  afford  much  scope  for 
this  affectionate  industry,  the  slightest  pretext  is  seized 
upon  with  avidity.  See  how  eagerly  ladies  will  deco- 
rate a  church  at  Christmas,  and  how  they  will  work  to 
get  up  an  ecclesiastical  bazaar !  Even  in  that  Church 
which  most  encourages  or  permits  aesthetic  industiT, 
the  zeal  of  ladies  sometimes  goes  beyond  the  desires 
of  the  clergy,  and  has  to  be  more  or  less  decidedly 
repressed.  We  all  can  see  from  the  outside  how  fond 
women  generally  are  of  flowers,  though  I  believe  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  realize  all  that  flowers  are  to  them, 
as  there  are  no  inanimate  objects  that  men  love  with 
such  affectionate  and  even  tender  solicitude.  However, 
we  see  that  women  surround  themselves  with  flowers, 
in  gardens,  in  conservatories,  and  in  their  rooms ;  we 
see  that  they  wear  artificial  flowers  in  their  dress,  and 
that  they  paint  flowers  in  water-color  and  on  china. 
Now  observe  how  the  Church  of  Rome  and  the  Ritual- 
ists in  England  show  sympathy  with  this  feminine  taste  ! 
Innumerable  millions  of  flowers  are  employed  annually 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  189 

in  the  churches  on  the  Continent ;  they  are  also  used 
in  England,  though  in  less  lavish  profusion,  and  a  ser- 
mon on  flowers  is  preached  annually  in  London,  when 
every  pew  is  full  of  them. 

It  is  well  known  that  women  take  an  unfailing  interest 
in  dress.  The  attention  they  give  to  it  IB  close,  constant, 
and  systematic,  like  an  orderly  man's  attention  to  order. 
Women  are  easily  affected  by  official  costumes,  and  they 
read  what  great  people  have  worn  at  levees  and  drawing- 
rooms.  The  clergy  possess,  in  ecclesiastical  vestments, 
a  very  powerful  help  to  their  influence.  That  many  of 
them  are  clearly  aware  of  this  is  proved  b}r  their  bold- 
ness and  perseverance  in  resuming  ornamental  vest- 
ments ;  and  (as  might  be  expected)  that  Church  which 
has  the  most  influence  over  women  is  at  the  same  time 
the  one  whose  vestments  are  most  gorgeous  and  most 
elaborate.  Splendor,  however,  is  not  required  to  make 
a  costume  impressive.  It  is  enough  that  it  be  strikingly 
peculiar,  even  in  simplicity,  like  the  white  robe  of  the 
Dominican  friars. 

Costume  naturally  leads  our  minds  to  architecture. 
I  am  not  the  first  to  remark  that  a  house  is  only  a 
cloak  of  a  larger  size.  The  gradation  is  insensible 
from  a  coat  to  a  cathedral :  first,  the  soldier's  heavy 
cloak  which  enabled  the  Prussians  to  dispense  with  the 
little  tent,  then  the  tent,  hut,  cottage,  house,  church, 
cathedral,  heavier  and  larger  as  we  ascend  the  scale. 
44  He  has  clothed  himself  with  his  church,"  says  Mich- 
elet  of  the  priest;  "he  has  wrapped  himself  in  this 
glorious  mantle,  and  in  it  he  stands  in  triumphant  state. 
The  crowd  comes,  sees,  admires.  Assuredly,  if  we 


190  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

judge  the  man  by  his  covering,  he  who  clothes  himself 
with  a  Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  or  with  a  Cologne 
Cathedral,  is,  to  all  appearance,  the  giant  of  the  spirit- 
ual world.  What  a  dwelling  such  an  edifice  is,  and 
how  vast  the  inhabitant  must  be !  All  proportions 
change ;  the  eye  is  deceived  and  deceives  itself  again. 
Sublime  lights,  powerful  shadows,  all  help  the  illusion. 
The  man  who  in  the  street  looked  like  a  village  school- 
master is  a  prophet  in  this  place.  He  is  transfigured 
by  these  magnificent  surroundings  ;  his  heaviness  be- 
comes power  and  majesty ;  his  voice  has  formidable 
echoes.  Women  and  children  are  overawed." 

To  a  mind  that  does  not  analyze  but  simply  receives 
impressions,  magnificent  architecture  is  a  convincing 
proof  that  the  words  of  the  preacher  are  true.  It 
appears  inconceivable  that  such  substantial  glories,  so 
many  thousands  of  tons  of  masonry,  such  forests  of 
timber,  such  acres  of  lead  and  glass,  all  united  in  one 
harmonious  work  on  which  men  lavished  wealth  and 
toil  for  generations,  —  it  appears  inconceivable  that 
such  a  monument  can  perpetuate  an  error  or  a  dream. 
The  echoing  vaults  bear  witness.  Responses  come  from 
storied  window  and  multitudinous  imagery.  When  the 
old  cosmogon}'  is  proclaimed  to  be  true  in  York  Minster, 
the  scientists  sink  into  insignificance  in  their  modern 
ordinary  rooms ;  when  the  acolyte  rings  his  bell  in 
Rouen  Cathedral,  and  the  Host  is  lifted  up,  and  the 
crowd  kneels  in  silent  adoration  on  the  pavement,  who 
is  to  deny  the  Real  Presence?  Does  not  every  massive 
pillar  stand  there  to  affirm  sturdily  that  it  is  true  ;  and 
do  not  the  towers  outside  announce  it  to  field  and  river, 
and  to  the  very  winds  of  heaven  ? 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  191 

The  musical  culture  of  women  finds  its  own  special 
interest  in  the  vocal  and  instrumental  parts  of  the 
church  service.  Women  have  a  direct  influence  on 
this  part  of  the  ritual,  and  sometimes  take  an  active 
share  in  it.  Of  all  the  arts  music  is  the  most  closely 
connected  with  religion,  and  it  is  the  only  one  that  the 
blessed  are  believed  to  practise  in  a  future  state.  A 
suggestion  that  angels  might  paint  or  carve  is  so  un- 
accustomed that  it  seems  incongruous  ;  yet  the  objection 
to  these  arts  cannot  be  that  they  employ  matter,  since 
both  poets  and  painters  give  musical  instruments  to  the 
angels,  — 

"  And  angels  meeting  us  shall  sing 
To  their  citherns  and  citoles." 

Worship  naturally  becomes  musical  as  it  passes  from 
the  prayer  that  asks  for  benefits  to  the  expression  of 
jo}Tful  praise ;  and  though  the  austerity  of  extreme 
Protestantism  has  excluded  instruments  and  encour« 
aged  reading  instead  of  chanting,  I  am  not  aware  that 
it  has  ever  gone  so  far  as  to  forbid  the  singing  of 
hymns. 

I  have  not  yet  touched  upon  pulpit  eloquence  as  one 
of  the  means  by  which  the  clergy  gain  a  great  ascend- 
ency over  women.  The  truth  is  that  the  pulpit  is  quite 
the  most  advantageous  of  all  places  for  any  one  who 
has  the  gift  of  public  speaking.  He  is  placed  there  far 
more  favorably  than  a  Member  of  Parliament  in  his 
place  in  the  House,  where  he  is  subject  to  constant  and 
contemptuous  interruptions  from  hearers  lounging  with 
their  hats  on.  The  chief  advantage  is  that  no  one 
present  is  allowed  either  to  interrupt  or  to  reply ;  and 


192  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

this  is  one  reason  why  some  men  will  not  go  to  church, 
as  they  say,  "  We  may  hear  our  principles  misrepre- 
sented and  not  be  permitted  to  defend  them."  A 
Bishop,  in  my  hearing,  touched  upon  this  very  point. 
"  People  say,"  he  remarked,  "  that  a  preacher  is  much 
at  his  ease  because  no  one  is  allowed  to  answer  him ; 
but  I  invite  discussion.  If  any  one  here  present  has 
doubts  about  the  soundness  of  my  reasoning,  I  invite 
him  to  come  to  me  at  the  Episcopal  Palace,  and  we 
will  argue  the  question  together  in  m}T  study."  This 
sounded  unusually  liberal,  but  how  the  advantages  were 
still  on  the  side  of  the  Bishop  !  His  attack  on  heresy 
was  public.  It  was  uttered  with  long- practised  profes- 
sional eloquence,  it  was  backed  b}T  a  lofty  social  position, 
aided  by  a  peculiar  and  dignified  costume,  and  mightily 
aided  also  by  the  architecture  of  a  magnificent  cathe- 
dral. The  doubter  was  invited  to  answer,  but  not  on 
equal  terms.  The  attack  was  public,  the  answer  was 
to  be  private,  and  the  heretic  was  to  meet  the  Bishop 
in  the  Episcopal  Palace,  where,  again,  the  power  of 
rank  and  surroundings  would  be  ah1  in  the  prelate's 
favor. 

Not  only  are  clerg}~men  privileged  speakers,  in  being 
as  secure  from  present  contradiction  as  a  sovereign  on 
the  throne,  but  the}7  have  the  grandest  of  all  imaginable 
subjects.  In  a  word,  the}^  have  the  subject  of  Dante, 
—  they  speak  to  us  del  Inferno,  del  Purgatorio,  del 
Paradiso.  If  the}7  have  any  gift  of  genius,  any  power 
of  imagination,  such  a  subject  becomes  a  tremendous 
engine  in  their  hands.  Imagine  the  difference  between 
a  preacher  solemnl}*  warning  his  hearers  that  the  con- 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  193 

sequences  of  inattention  may  be  everlasting  torment, 
and  a  politician  warning  the  Government  that  inatten- 
tion may  lead  to  a  deficit !  The  truth  is,  that  however 
terrible  may  be  the  earthly  consequences  of  imprudence 
and  of  sin,  they  sink  into  complete  insignificance  before 
the  menaces  of  the  Church ;  nor  is  there,  on  the  other 
hand,  any  worldly  success  that  can  be  proposed  as  a 
motive  comparable  to  the  permanent  happiness  of 
Paradise.  The  good  and  the  bad  things  of  this  world 
have  alike  the  fatal  defect,  as  subjects  for  eloquence, 
that  they  equally  end  in  death ;  and  as  death  is  near 
to  all  of  us,  we  see  the  end  to  both.  The  secular 
preacher  is  like  a  man  who  predicts  a  more  or  less 
comfortable  journey,  which  comes  to  the  same  end  in 
an}'  case.  A  philosophic  hearer  is  not  very  greatly 
elated  b}r  the  promise  of  comforts  so  soon  to  be  taken 
away,  nor  is  he  overwhelmed  by  the  threat  of  evils 
that  can  but  be  temporary.  Hence,  in  all  matters 
belonging  to  this  world  only,  the  tone  of  quiet  advice 
is  the  reasonable  and  appropriate  tone,  and  it  is  that 
of  the  doctor  and  lawyer ;  but  in  matters  of  such  tre- 
mendous import  as  eternal  happiness  and  misery  the 
utmost  energy  of  eloquence  can  never  be  too  great  for 
the  occasion ;  so  that  if  a  preacher  can  threaten  like 
peals  of  thunder,  and  appal  like  flashes  of  lightning,  he 
may  use  such  terrible  gifts  without  any  disproportionate 
excess.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  has  any  charm  of 
language,  any  brilliancy  of  imagination,  there  is  noth- 
ing to  prevent  him  from  alluring  his  hearers  to  the 
paths  of  virtue  by  the  most  lavish  and  seductive  prom- 
ises. In  short,  his  opportunities  in  both  directions  are 
13 


194  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

of  such  a  nature  that  exaggeration  is  impossible ;  and 
all  his  power,  all  his  charm,  are  as  free  to  do  their 
utmost  as  an  ocean  wave  in  a  tempest  or  the  nightingale 
in  the  summer  woods. 

I  cannot  quit  the  subject  of  clerical  oratoiy  without 
noticing  one  of  its  marked  characteristics.  The  priest 
is  not  in  a  position  of  disinterested  impartiality,  like  a 
man  of  science,  who  is  ready  to  renounce  any  doctrine 
when  he  finds  evidence  against  it.  The  priest  is  an 
advocate  whose  life-long  pleading  must  be  in  favor  of 
the  Church  as  he  finds  her,  and  in  opposition  to  her 
adversaries.  To  attack  adversaries  is  therefore  one  of 
the  recognized  duties  of  his  profession  ;  and  if  he  is  not 
a  man  of  uncommon  fairness,  if  he  has  not  an  inborn 
love  of  justice  which  is  rare  in  human  nature,  he  will 
not  only  attack  his  adversaries  but  misrepresent  them. 
There  is  even  a  worse  danger  than  simple  misrepresen- 
tation. A  priest  may  possibly  be  a  man  of  a  coarse 
temper,  and  if  he  is  so  he  will  employ  the  weapons  of 
outrage  and  vituperation,  knowing  that  he  can  do  so 
with  impunit}T.  One  would  imagine  that  these  methods 
must  inevitably  repel  and  displease  women,  but  there 
is  a  ver}T  peculiar  reason  why  they  seldom  have  this 
effect.  A  highly  principled  woman  is  usually  so  ex- 
tremely eager  to  be  on  the  side  of  what  is  right  that 
suspension  of  judgment  is  most  difficult  for  her.  Any 
condemnation  uttered  by  a  person  she  is  accustomed 
to  trust  has  her  approval  on  the  instant.  She  cannot 
endure  to  wait  until  the  crime  is  proved,  but  her  feel- 
ings of  indignation  are  at  once  aroused  against  the 
supposed  criminal  on  the  ground  that  there  must  be 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  195 

dear  distinctions  between  right  and  wrong.  The  priest, 
for  her,  is  the  good  man,  —  the  man  on  the  side  of  God 
and  virtue ;  and  those  whom  he  condemns  are  the  bad 
men, — the  men  on  the  side  of  the  Devil  and  vice. 
This  being  so,  he  ma}-  deal  with  such  men  as  roughly 
as  he  pleases.  Nor  have  these  men  the  faintest  chance 
of  setting  themselves  right  in  her  opinion.  She  quietly 
closes  the  avenues  of  her  mind  against  them ;  she  de- 
clines to  read  their  books ;  she  will  not  listen  to  their 
arguments.  Even  if  one  of  them  is  a  near  relation 
whose  opinions  inflict  upon  her  what  she  calls  u  the 
deepest  distress  of  mind,"  she  will  positively  prefer  to 
go  on  suffering  such  distress  until  she  dies,  rather  than 
allow  him  to  remove  it  b}'  a  candid  exposition  of  his 
views.  She  prefers  the  hostile  misrepresentation  that 
makes  her  miserable,  to  an  authentic  account  of  the 
matter  that  would  relieve  her  anguish. 

PART  III.  —  ASSOCIATION. 

THE  association  of  clergymen  with  ladies  in  works  of 
charity  affords  continual  opportunities  for  the  exercise 
of  clerical  influence  over  women.  A  partnership  in 
good  works  is  set  up  which  establishes  interesting  and 
cordial  relations,  and  when  the  lady  has  accomplished 
some  charitable  purpose  she  remembers  for  long  after- 
wards the  clergyman  without  whose  active  assistance 
her  project  might  have  fallen  to  the  ground.  She  sees 
in  the  clergyman  a  reflection  of  her  own  goodness,  and 
she  feels  grateful  to  him  for  lending  his  masculine 
sense  and  larger  experience  to  the  realization  of  her 


196  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

ideas.  There  are  other  cases  of  a  different  nature  in 
which  the  self-esteem  of  the  lady  is  deeply  gratified 
when  she  is  selected  by  the  clergyman  as  being  more 
capable  of  devoted  effort  in  a  sacred  cause  than  women 
of  inferior  piety  and  strength  of  mind.  This  kind  of 
clerical  selection  is  believed  to  be  very  influential  in 
furthering  clerical  marriages.  The  lady  is  told  that 
she  will  serve  the  highest  of  all  causes  by  lending  a 
willing  ear  to  her  admirer.  Ever}7  reader  will  remem- 
ber how  thorough!}7  this  idea  is  worked  out  in  ' '  Jane 
Eyre,"  where  St.  John  urges  Jane  to  marry  him  on  the 
plain  ground  that  she  would  be  a  valuable  fellow-worker 
with  a  missionary.  Charlotte  Bronte  was,  indeed,  so 
strongly  impressed  with  this  aspect  of  clerical  influence 
that  she  injured  the  best  and  strongest  of  her  novels 
by  an  almost  wearisome  development  of  that  episode. 

Clerical  influence  is  immensely  aided  by  the  posses- 
sion of  leisure.  Without  underrating  the  self-devotion 
of  hard-working  clergymen  (which  is  all  the  more  honor- 
able to  them  that  the}7  might  take  life  more  easily  if  they 
chose),  we  see  a  wide  distinction,  in  point  of  industry, 
between  the  average  clergyman  and  the  average  solici- 
tor, for  example.  The  clergyman  has  leisure  to  pay 
calls,  to  accept  many  invitations,  and  to  talk  in  full 
detail  about  the  interests  that  he  has  in  common  with 
his  female  friends.  The  solicitor  is  kept  to  his  office 
by  strictly  professional  work  requiring  very  close  appli- 
cation and  allowing  no  liberty  of  mind. 

Much  might  be  said  about  the  effect  of  clerical  lei- 
sure on  clerical  manners.  Without  leisure  it  is  difficult 
to  have  such  quiet  and  pleasant  manners  as  the  clergy 


PRIESTS  AND   WOMEN.  197 

general!}*  have.  Very  bus}T  men  generally  seem  pre- 
occupied with  some  idea  of  their  own  which  is  not 
what  3'ou  are  talking  about,  but  a  leisure^  man  will 
give  hospitality  to  your  thought.  A  busy  man  wants 
to  get  away,  and  fidgets  you  ;  a  man  of  leisure  dwells 
with  you,  for  the  time,  completely.  Ladies  are  exqui- 
sitely sensitive  to  these  differences,  and  besides,  they 
are  generally  themselves  persons  of  leisure.  Over- 
worked people  often  confound  leisure  with  indolence, 
which  is  a  great  mistake.  Leisure  is  highly  favorable 
to  intelligence  and  good  manners ;  indolence  is  stupid, 
from  its  dislike  to  mental  effort,  and  ill-bred,  from  the 
habit  of  inattention. 

The  feeling  of  women  towards  custom  draws  them 
strongly  to  the  clergy,  because  a  priesthood  is  the  in- 
stinctive upholder  of  ancient  customs  and  ceremonies, 
and  steadily  maintains  external  decorum.  Women  are 
naturally  more  attracted  by  custom  than  we  are.  A 
few  men  have  an  affectionate  regard  for  the  sanctities 
of  usage,  but  most  men  only  submit  to  them  from  an 
idea  that  they  are  generally  helpful  to  the  "  mainten- 
ance of  order  ;  "  and  if  women  could  be  supposed  absent 
from  a  nation  for  a  time,  it  is  probable  that  external 
observances  of  all  kinds  would  be  greatly  relaxed. 
Women  do  not  merely  submit  passively  to  custom  ; 
they  uphold  it  actively  and  energetically,  with  a  degree 
of  faith  in  the  perfect  reasonableness  of  it  which  gives 
them  great  decision  in  its  defence.  It  seems  to  them 
the  ultimate  reason  from  which  there  is  no  appeal. 
Now,  in  the  life  of  every  organized  Church  there  is 
much  to  gratify  this  instinct,  especially  in  those  which 


198  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

have  been  long  established.  The  recurrence  of  hoty 
seasons,  the  customary  repetition  of  certain  forms  of 
words,  the  observance  at  stated  intervals  of  the  same 
ceremonies,  the  adherence  to  certain  prescribed  decen- 
cies or  splendors  of  dress,  the  reservation  of  sacred 
days  on  which  labor  is  suspended,  give  to  the  religious 
life  a  charm  of  customariness  which  is  deeply  gratify- 
ing to  good,  order-loving  women.  It  is  said  that  every 
poet  has  something  feminine  in  his  nature ;  and  it  is 
certainly  observable  that  poets,  like  women,  are  ten- 
derly affected  by  the  recurrence  of  holy  seasons,  and 
the  observance  of  fixed  religious  rites.  I  will  only 
allude  to  Keble's  "Christian  Year,"  because  in  this 
instance  it  might  be  objected  that  the  poet  was  second- 
ary to  the  Christian  ;  but  the  reader  will  find  instances 
of  the  same  sentiment  in  Tennyson,  as,  for  example, 
in  the  profoundly  affecting  allusions  to  the  return  of 
Christmas  in  "In  Memoriam."  I  could  not  name  an- 
other occupation  so  closely  and  visibly  bound  up  with 
custom  as  the  clerical  profession,  but  for  the  sake  of 
contrast  I  may  mention  one  or  two  others  that  are 
completely  disconnected  from  it.  The  profession  of 
painting  is  an  example,  and  so  is  that  of  literature. 
An  artist,  a  writer,  has  simply  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  custom,  except  as  a  private  man.  He  may  be  an 
excellent  and  a  famous  workman  without  knowing 
Sunday  from  week-day  or  Easter  from  Lent.  A  man 
of  science  is  equally  unconnected  with  traditional 
observances. 

It  may  be  a  question  whether  a  celibate  or  a  married 
clergy  has  the  greater  influence  over  women. 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  199 

There  are  two  sides  to  this  question.  The  Church  of 
Rome  is,  from  the  worldly  point  of  view,  the  most  astute 
body  of  men  who  have  ever  leagued  themselves  together 
in  a  corporation ;  and  that  Church  has  decided  for  celi- 
bacy, rejecting  thereby  all  the  advantages  to  be  derived 
from  rich  marriages  and  good  connections.  In  a  celi- 
bate church  the  priest  has  a  position  of  secure  dignity 
and  independence.  It  is  known  from  the  first  that  he 
will  not  marry,  so  there  is  no  idle  and  damaging  gossip 
about  his  supposed  aspirations  after  fortune,  or  tender 
feelings  towards  beaut}r.  Women  can  treat  him  with 
greater  confidence  than  if  he  were  a  possible  suitor, 
and  then  can  confess  to  him,  which  is  felt  to  be  difficult 
with  a  married  or  a  marriageable  clergy.  By  being 
decidedly  celibate  the  clergy  avoid  the  possible  loss  of 
dignity  which  might  result  from  allying  themselves  with 
families  in  a  low  social  position.  They  are  simply 
priests,  and  escape  all  other  classification.  A  married 
man  is,  as  it  were,  made  responsible  for  the  decent 
appearance,  the  good  manners,  and  the  proper  conduct 
of  three  different  sets  of  people.  There  is  the  family 
he  springs  from,  there  is  his  wife's  famity,  and,  lastly, 
there  is  the  famity  in  his  own  house.  Any  one  of  these 
ma}'  drag  a  man  down  socially  with  almost  irresistible 
force.  The  celibate  priest  is  only  affected  by  the  family 
he  springs  from,  and  is  generally  at  a  distance  from  that, 
lie  escapes  the  invasion  of  his  house  by  a  wife's  rela- 
tions, who  might  possibly  be  vulgar,  and,  above  all,  he 
escapes  the  permanent  degradation  of  a  coarse  and 
ill-dressed  family  of  his  own.  No  doubt,  from  the 
Christian  point  of  view,  poverty  is  as  honorable  as 


200  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

wealth  ;  but  from  the  worldly  point  of  view  its  visible 
imperfections  are  mean,  despicable,  and  even  ridiculous. 
In  the  early  days  of  English  Protestants  the  liberty  to 
marry  was  ruinous  to  the  social  position  of  the  clergy. 
They  generally  espoused  servant-girls  or  "a  lady's 
maid  whose  character  had  been  blown  upon,  and  who 
was  therefore  forced  to  give  up  all  hope  of  catching 
the  steward." l  Queen  Elizabeth  issued  "  special  orders 
that  no  clergyman  should  presume  to  marry  a  servant- 
girl  without  the  consent  of  the  master  or  mistress." 
"One  of  the  lessons  most  earnestly  inculcated  on 
every  girl  of  honorable  family  was  to  give  no  encour- 
agement to  a  lover  in  orders ;  and  if  any  young  lady 
forgot  this  precept  she  was  almost  as  much  disgraced 
as  by  an  illicit  amour."  The  cause  of  these  low  mar- 
riages was  simply  poverty,  and  it  is  needless  to  add 
that  they  increased  the  evil.  "As  children  multiplied 
and  grew,  the  household  of  the  priest  became  more  and 
more  beggarly.  Holes  appeared  more  and  more 
plainly  in  the  thatch  of  his  parsonage  and  in  his  single 
cassock.  His  boys  followed  the  plough,  and  his  girls 
went  out  to  service." 

When  clerg3'men  can  maintain  appearances  they  gain 
one  advantage  from  marriage  which  increases  their  in- 
fluence with  women.  The  clergyman's  wife  is  almost 
herself  in  holy  orders,  and  his  daughter  often  takes  an 
equally  keen  interest  in  ecclesiastical  matters.  These 
"  clergy  women,"  as  they  have  been  called,  are  valuable 
allies,  through  whom  much  may  be  done  that  cannot 

1  These  quotations  (I  need  hardly  say)  are  from  Macaulay's 
History,  Chapter  III. 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  201 

be  effected  directly.  This  is  the  only  advantage  on 
the  side  of  marriage,  and  it  is  but  relative ;  for  a  celi- 
bate clergy  has  also  its  female  allies  who  are  scarcely 
less  devoted ;  and  in  the  Church  of  Rome  there  are 
great  organized  associations  of  women  entirely  under 
the  control  of  ecclesiastics.  Again,  there  is  a  lay 
element  in  a  clergyman's  family  which  brings  the  world 
into  his  own  house,  to  the  detriment  of  its  religious 
character.  The  sons  of  the  clergy  are  often  an}Tthing 
but  clerical  in  feeling.  They  are  often  strongly  laic, 
and  even  sceptical,  by  a  natural  reaction  from  ecclesi- 
asticism.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  it  seems  certain 
that  an  unmarried  clergy  more  easily  maintains  both 
its  own  dignit}T  and  the  distinction  between  itself  and 
the  laity. 

Auricular  confession  is  so  well  known  as  a  means  of 
influencing  women  that  I  need  scarcely  do  more  than 
mention  it ;  but  there  is  one  characteristic  of  it  which 
is  little  understood  b}T  Protestants.  The}7  fancy  (judg- 
ing from  Protestant  feelings  of  antagonism)  that  con- 
fession must  be  felt  as  a  tyranny.  A  Roman  Catholic 
woman  does  not  feel  it  to  be  an  infliction  that  the 
Church  imposes,  but  a  relief  that  she  affords.  Women 
are  not  naturally  silent  sufferers.  They  like  to  talk 
about  their  anxieties  and  interests,  especially  to  a 
patient  and  sympathetic  listener  of  the  other  sex  who 
will  give  them  valuable  advice.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  a  good  deal  of  informal  confession  is  done 
by  Protestant  ladies  ;  in  the  Church  of  Rome  it  is  more 
systematic  and  leads  to  a  formal  absolution.  The  sub- 
ject which  the  speaker  has  to  talk  about  is  that  most 


202  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEX. 

interesting  of  all  subjects,  self.  In  any  other  place 
than  a  confessional  to  talk  about  self  at  any  length 
is  an  error  ;  in  the  confessional  it  is  a  virtue.  The  truth 
is  that  pious  Roman  Catholic  women  find  happiness  in 
the  confessional  and  try  the  patience  of  the  priests  by 
minute  accounts  of  trifling  or  imaginary  sins.  No 
doubt  confession  places  an  immense  power  in  the  hands 
of  the  Church,  but  at  an  incalculable  cost  of  patience. 
It  is  not  felt  to  weigh  unfairly  on  the  laity,  because 
the  priest  who  to-day  has  forgiven  3*our  faults  will  to- 
morrow kneel  in  penitence  and  ask  forgiveness  for  his 
own.  I  do  not  see  in  the  confessional  so  much  an 
oppressive  institution  as  a  convenience  for  both  parties. 
The  woman  gets  what  she  wants,  —  an  opportunity  of 
talking  confidentially  about  herself ;  and  the  priest  gets 
what  he  wants,  —  an  opportunity  of  learning  the  secrets 
of  the  household. 

Nothing  has  so  powerfully  awakened  the  jealous}7  of 

Ia3rmen  as  this  institution  of  the  confessional.      The 

reasons  have  been  so  fully  treated  by  Michelet  and 

others,  and  are  in  fact  so  obvious,  that  I  need  not 

/  repeat  them. 

The  dislike  for  priests  that  is  felt  by  many  Conti- 
nental laymen  is  increased  by  a  cause  that  helps  to  win 
the  confidence  of  women.  "  Observe,"  the  laymen 
say,  "  with  what  art  the  priest  dresses  so  as  to  make 
women  feel  that  he  is  without  sex,  in  order  that  they 
may  confess  to  him  more  willingly.  He  removes  every 
trace  of  hair  from  his  face,  his  dress  is  half  feminine, 
he  hides  his  legs  in  petticoats,  his  shoulders  under  a 
tippet,  and  in  the  higher  ranks  he  wears  jewelry  and 


PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN.  203 

silk  and  lace.  A  woman  would  never  confess  to  a 
man  dressed  as  we. are,  so  the  wolf  puts  on  sheep's 
clothing." 

Where  confession  is  not  the  rule  the  layman's  jeal- 
ousy is  less  acrid  and  pungent  in  its  expression,  but 
it  often  manifests  itself  in  milder  forms.  The  pen  that 
so  clearly  delineated  the  Rev.  Charles  Honeyman  was 
impelled  by  a  layman's  natural  and  pardonable  jeal- 
ousy. A  feeling  of  this  kind  is  often  strong  in  laymen 
of  mature  years.  They  will  say  to  you  in  confidence, 
"  Here  is  a  man  about  the  age  of  one  of  my  sons,  who 
knows  no  more  concerning  the  mysteries  of  life  and 
death  than  I  do,  who  gets  what  he  thinks  he  knows  out 
of  a  book  which  is  as  accessible  to  me  as  it  is  to  him, 
and  yet  who  assumes  a  superiority  over  me  which  would 
only  be  justifiable  if  I  were  ignorant  and  he  enlightened. 
He  calls  me  one  of  his  sheep.  I  am  not  a  sheep  rela- 
tively to  him.  I  am  at  least  his  equal  in  knowledge, 
and  greatly  his  superior  in  experience.  Nobod}'  but  a 
parson  would  venture  to  compare  me  to  an  animal  (such 
a  stupid  animal  too !)  and  himself  to  that  animal's  mas- 
ter. His  one  real  and  effective  superiority  is  that  he 
has  all  the  women  on  his  side." 

You  poor,  doubting,  hesitating  la^yman,  not  half  so 
convinced  as  the  ladies  of  }Tour  family,  who  and  what 
are  you  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  comes  clothed 
with  the  authority  of  the  Church  ?  If  you  simply  repeat 
what  he  says,  you  are  a  mere  echo,  a  feeble  repetition 
of  a  great  original,  like  the  copy  of  a  famous  picture. 
If  you  try  to  take  refuge  in  philosophic  indifference, 
in  silent  patience,  you  will  be  blamed  for  moral  and 


204  PRIESTS  AND    WOMEN. 

religious  inertia.  If  you  venture  to  oppose  and  discuss, 
3'ou  will  be  the  bad  man  against  the  good  man,  and  as 
sure  of  condemnation  as  a  murderer  when  the  judge 
is  putting  on  the  black  cap.  There  is  no  resource  for 
you  but  one,  and  that  does  not  offer  a  very  cheering 
or  hopeful  prospect.  By  the  exercise  of  angelic  pa- 
tience, and  of  all  the  other  virtues  that  have  been 
preached  by  good  men  from  Socrates  downwards,  you 
may  in  twenty  or  thirty  years  acquire  some  credit  for 
a  sort  of  inferior  goodness  of  j-our  own,  —  a  pinchbeck 
goodness,  better  than  nothing,  but  not  in  any  way 
comparable  to  the  pure  golden  goodness  of  the  priest ; 
and  when  you  come  to  die,  the  best  that  can  be  hoped 
for  your  disembodied  soul  will  be  mercy,  clemency,  in- 
dulgence ;  not  approbation,  welcome,  or  reward. 


APPARENTLY  LESS  RELIGIOUS.         205 


ESSAY    XIV. 

WHY  WE  ARE  APPARENTLY  BECOMING  LESS 
RELIGIOUS. 

TT  has  happened  to  me  on  more  than  one  occasion  to 
•*•  have  to  examine  papers  left  by  ladies  belonging  to 
the  last  generation,  who  had  lived  in  the  manner  most 
esteemed  and  respected  by  the  general  opinion  of  their 
time,  and  who  might,  without  much  risk  of  error,  be 
taken  for  almost  perfect  models  of  English  gentlewomen 
as  they  existed  before  the  present  scientific  age.  The 
papers  left  by  these  ladies  consisted  either  of  memo- 
randa of  their  private  thoughts,  or  of  thoughts  by  others 
which  seemed  to  have  had  an  especial  interest  for  them. 
I  found  that  all  these  papers  arranged  themselves  natu- 
rally and  inevitably  under  two  heads :  either  they  con* 
cerned  family  interests  and  affections,  or  they  were 
distinctly  religious  in  character,  like  the  religious  medi- 
tations we  find  in  books  of  devotion. 

There  may  be  nothing  extraordinaiy  in  this.  Thou- 
sands of  other  ladies  may  have  left  religious  memoranda  ; 
but  consider  what  a  preponderance  of  religious  ideas  is 
implied  when  written  thoughts  are  entirely  confined  to 
them !  The  ladies  in  question  lived  in  the  first  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  a  period  of  great  intellectual 
ferment,  of  the  most  important  political  and  social 
changes,  and  of  wonderful  material  progress ;  but  they 


206  WHY   WE  ARE  APPARENTLY 

did  not  seem  to  have  taken  an}T  real  interest  in  these 
movements.  The  Bible  and  the  commentaries  of  the 
clergy  satisfied  not  only  their  spiritual  but  also  their  in- 
tellectual needs.  They  seem  to  have  desired  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  universe,  or  of  the  probable  origin  and  future 
of  the  human  race,  which  the  Bible  did  not  supply.  They 
seem  to  have  cared  for  no  example  of  human  character 
and  conduct  other  than  the  scriptural  examples. 

This  restfulness  in  Biblical  history  and  philosophy, 
this  substitution  of  the  Bible  for  the  world  as  a  subject 
of  study  and  contemplation,  this  absence  of  desire  to 
penetrate  the  secrets  of  the  world  itself,  this  want  of 
aspiration  after  any  ideal  more  recent  than  the  earlier 
ages  of  Christianity,  permitted  a  much  more  constant 
and  uninterrupted  dwelling  with  what  are  considered  to 
be  religious  ideas  than  is  possible  to  any  active  and 
inquiring  mind  of  the  present  day.  Let  it  be  supposed, 
for  example,  that  a  person  to  whom  the  Bible  was  every  - 
hing  desired  information  about  the  origin  of  the  globe, 
and  of  life  upon  it ;  he  would  refer  to  the  Book  of  Gene- 
sis as  the  only  authority,  and  this  reference  would  have 
the  character  of  a  religious  act,  and  he  would  get  credit 
for  piety  on  account  of  it ;  whilst  a  modern  scientific 
student  would  refer  to  some  great  modern  paleontolo- 
gist, and  his  reference  would  not  have  the  character  of 
a  religious  act,  nor  bring  him  any  credit  for  piety ;  yet 
the  prompting  curiosity,  the  desire  to  know  about  the 
remote  past,  would  be  exactly  the  same  in  both  cases. 
And  I  think  it  may  be  easily  shown  that  if  the  modern 
scientific  student  appears  to  be  less  religious  than  others 
think  he  ought  to  be,  it  is  often  because  he  possesses 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  207 

and  uses  more  abundant  sources  of  information  than 
those  which  were  accessible  to  the  ancient  Jews.  It  is 
not  his  fault  if  knowledge  has  increased ;  he  cannot  be 
blamed  if  he  goes  where  information  is  most  copious 
and  most  exact ;  yet  his  preference  for  such  information 
gives  an  unsanctified  aspect  to  his  studies.  The  study 
of  the  most  ancient  knowledge  wears  a  religious  aspect, 
but  the  stud}T  of  modern  knowledge  appears  to  be  non- 
religious. 

Again,  when  we  come  to  the  cultivation  of  the  ideal- 
izing faculties,  of  the  faculties  which  do  not  seek  infor- 
mation merely,  but  some  kind  of  perfection,  we  find  that 
the  very  complexity  of  modern  life,  and  the  diversity 
of  the  ideal  pleasures  and  perfections  that  we  modern 
men  desire,  have  a  constant  tendency  to  take  us  outside 
of  strictly  religious  ideals.  As  long  as  the  writings 
which  are  held  to  be  sacred  supply  all  that  our  idealizing 
faculties  need,  so  long  will  our  imaginative  powers  exer- 
cise themselves  in  what  is  considered  to  be  a  religious 
manner,  and  we  shall  get  credit  for  piety ;  but  when 
our  minds  imagine  what  the  sacred  writers  could  not  or 
did  not  conceive,  and  when  we  seek  help  for  our  imagi- 
native faculty  in  profane  writers,  we  appear  to  be  less 
religious.  So  it  is  with  the  desire  to  study  and  imitate 
high  examples  of  conduct  and  character.  There  is  no 
nobler  or  more  fruitful  instinct  in  man  than  a  desire 
like  this,  which  is  possible  only  to  those  who  are  at 
oiice  humble  and  aspiring.  An  ancient  Jew  who  had 
this  noble  instinct  could  satisfy  it  by  reading  the  sacred 
books  of  the  Hebrews,  and  so  his  aspiration  appeared 
to  be  wholly  religious.  It  is  not  so  with  an  active- 


208  WHY    WE  ARE  APPARENTLY 

minded  young  Englishman  of  the  present  da}'.  He 
cannot  find  the  most  inspiriting  models  amongst  the 
ancient  Hebrews,  for  the  reason  that  their  life  was  alto- 
gether so  much  simpler  and  more  primitive  than  ours. 
They  had  nothing  that  can  seriously  be  called  science ; 
they  had  not  any  organized  industry ;  they  had  little 
art,  and  hardly  any  secular  literature,  so  that  in  these 
directions  they  offer  us  no  examples  to  follow.  Our 
great  inspiriting  examples  in  these  directions  are  to  be 
found  either  in  the  Renaissance  or  in  recent  times,  and 
therefore  in  profane  biography.  From  this  it  follows 
that  an  active  modern  mind  seems  to  study  and  follow 
non-religious  examples,  and  so  to  differ  widely,  and  for 
the  worse,  from  the  simpler  minds  of  old  time,  who  were 
satisfied  with  the  examples  they  found  in  their  Bibles. 
This  appearance  is  misleading  ;  it  is  merely  on  the  sur- 
face ;  for  if  we  go  deeper  and  do  not  let  ourselves  be 
deceived  by  the  words  "sacred"  and  "profane,"  we 
shall  find  that  when  a  simple  mind  chooses  a  model 
from  a  primitive  people,  and  a  cultivated  one  chooses 
a  model  from  an  advanced  people,  and  from  the  most 
advanced  class  in  it,  they  are  both  really  doing  the 
same  thing,  namely,  seeking  ideal  help  of  the  kind 
which  is  best  for  each.  Both  of  them  are  pursuing  the 
same  object,  —  a  mental  discipline  and  elevation  which 
may  be  comprised  under  the  general  term  virtue  /  the 
only  difference  being  that  one  is  studying  examples  of 
virtue  in  the  history  of  the  ancient  Jews,  whilst  the 
other  finds  examples  of  virtue  more  to  his  own  special 
purpose  in  the  lives  of  energetic  Englishmen,  French- 
men, or  Germans. 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  209 

A  hundred  such  examples  might  be  mentioned,  for 
every  occupation  worth  following  has  its  own  saints 
and  heroes  ;  but  I  will  confine  myself  to  two.  The  first 
shall  be  a  French  gentleman  of  the  eighteenth  centuiy, 
to  whom  life  offered  in  the  richest  profusion  everything 
that  can  tempt  a  man  to  what  is  considered  an  excusa- 
ble and  even  a  respectable  form  of  idleness.  He  had 
an  independent  fortune,  excellent  health,  a  good  social 
position,  and  easy  access  to  the  most  lively,  the  most 
entertaining,  the  most  amiable  society  that  ever  was, 
namely,  that  of  the  intelligent  French  nobility  before 
the  Revolution.  There  is  no  merit  in  renouncing  what 
we  do  not  enjoy  ;  but  he  enjoyed  all  pleasant  things,  and 
yet  renounced  them  for  a  higher  and  a  harder  life.  At 
the  age  of  thirty-two  he  retired  to  the  country,  made  a 
rule  of  early  rising  and  kept  it,  sallied  forth  from  his 
house  every  morning  at  five,  went  and  shut  himself  up 
in  an  old  tower  with  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  glass  of 
water  for  his  breakfast,  worked  altogether  eleven  or 
twelve  hours  a  day  in  two  sittings,  and  went  to  bed  at 
nine.  This  for  eight  months  in  the  year,  regularly, 
the  remaining  four  being  employed  in  scientific  and 
administrative  work  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  He 
went  on  working  in  this  way  for  forty  years,  and  in 
the  whole  course  of  that  time  never  let  pass  an  ill- 
considered  page  or  an  ill-constructed  sentence,  but 
always  did  his  best,  and  tried  to  make  himself  able  to 
do  better. 

Such  was  the  great  life  of  Buflbn ;  and  in  our  own 
time  another  great  life  has  come  to  its  close,  inferior 
to  that  of  Buffbn  only  in  this,  that  as  it  did  not  begin 
14 


210  WHY   WE  ARE  APPARENTLY 

in  luxur}r,  the  first  renunciation  was  not  so  difficult  to 
make.  Yet,  however  austere  his  beginnings,  it  is  not  a 
light  or  easy  thing  for  a  man  to  become  the  greatest 
intellectual  worker  of  his  time,  so  that  one  of  his  days 
(including  eight  hours  of  steady  nocturnal  labor)  was 
equivalent  to  two  or  more  of  our  days.  No  man  of  his 
time  in  Europe  had  so  vast  a  knowledge  of  literature 
and  science  in  combination ;  yet  this  knowledge  was 
accompanied  by  perfect  modesty  and  by  a  complete 
indifference  to  vulgar  distinctions  and  vain  successes. 
For  many  3*ears  he  was  the  butt  of  coarse  and  malig- 
nant misrepresentation  on  the  part  of  enemies  who 
easily  made  him  odious  to  a  shallow  societ}' ;  but  he 
bore  it  with  perfect  dignitj',  and  retained  unimpaired 
the  tolerance  and  charity  of  his  nature.  His  way  of 
living  was  plain  and  frugal ;  he  even  contented  himself 
with  narrow  dwellings,  though  the  want  of  space  must 
have  occasioned  frequent  inconvenience  to  a  man  of 
his  pursuits.  He  scrupulously  fulfilled  his  domestic 
duties,  and  made  use  of  his  medical  education  in  min- 
istering gratuitously  to  the  poor.  Such  was  his  cour- 
age that  when  already  advanced  in  life  he  undertook 
a  gigantic  task,  requiring  twenty  }*ears  of  incessant 
labor ;  and  such  were  his  industry  and  perseverance 
that  he  brought  it  to  a  splendidly  successful  issue.  At 
length,  after  a  long  life  of  duty  and  patience,  after 
bearing  calumn}T  and  ridicule,  he  was  called  to  endure 
another  kind  of  suffering,  —  that  of  incessant  physical 
pain.  This  he  bore  with  perfect  fortitude,  retaining 
to  the  last  his  mental  serenity,  his  interest  in  learning, 
and  a  high-minded  patriotic  thoughtfulness  for  his 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  211 

country  and  its  future,  finding  means  in  the  midst  of 
suffering  to  dictate  long  letters  to  his  fellow-citizens 
on  political  subjects,  which,  in  their  calm  wisdom,  stood 
in  the  strongest  possible  contrast  to  the  violent  party 
writing  of  the  hour. 

Such  was  the  great  life  of  Littre ;  and  now  consider 
whether  he  who  studies  lives  like  these,  and  wins  vir- 
tue from  their  austere  example,  does  not  occupy  his 
thoughts  with  what  would  have  been  considered  relig- 
ious aspirations,  if  these  two  men,  instead  of  being 
Frenchmen  of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries, 
had  happened  to  be  ancient  Jews.  If  it  had  been  pos- 
sible for  so  primitive  a  nation  as  the  Jewish  to  produce 
men  of  such  steady  industry  and  so  large  a  culture,  we 
should  have  read  the  story  of  their  lives  in  the  Jewish 
sacred  books,  and  then  it  would  have  been  a  part  of 
the  popular  religion  to  study  them,  whereas  now  the 
study  of  such  biography  is  held  to  be  non-religious,  if 
not  (at  least  in  the  case  of  Littre)  positively  irreligious. 
Yet  surely  when  we  think  of  the  virtues  which  made 
these  lives  so  fruitful,  our  minds  are  occupied  in  a  kind 
of  religious  thought ;  for  are  we  not  thinking  of  tem- 
perance, self-discipline,  diligence,  perseverance,  pa- 
tience, charity,  courage,  hope?  Were  not  these  men 
distinguished  by  their  aspiration  after  higher  perfection, 
by  a  constant  desire  to  use  their  talents  well,  and  by 
a  vigilant  care  in  the  employment  of  their  time  ?  And 
are  not  these  virtues  and  these  aspirations  held  to  b<$ 
parts  of  a  civilized  man's  religion,  and  the  best  parts  ? 

The  necessity  for  an  intellectual  expansion  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  Bible  was  felt  very  strongly  at  the 


212  WHY   WE  ARE  APPARENTLY 

time  of  the  Renaissance,  and  found  ample  satisfaction 
in  the  stud}7  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics.  There 
are  many  reasons  why  women  appear  to  be  more  relig- 
ious than  men ;  and  one  of  them  is  because  women 
study  only  one  collection  of  ancient  writings,  whilst 
men  have  been  accustomed  to  study  three ;  conse- 
quently that  which  women  study  (if  such  a  word  is 
applicable  to  devotional,  uncritical  reading)  occupies 
their  minds  far  more  exclusively  than  it  occupies  the 
mind  of  a  classical  scholar.  But,  though  the  intellect- 
ual energies  of  men  were  for  a  time  satisfied  with  clas- 
sical literature,  they  came  at  length  to  look  outside  of 
that  as  their  fathers  had  looked  outside  of  the  Bible. 
Classical  literature  was  itself  a  kind'  of  religion,  having 
its  own  sacred  books  ;  and  it  had  also  its  heretics,  —  the 
students  of  nature,  —  who  found  nature  more  interesting 
than  the  opinions  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  Then 
came  the  second  great  expansion  of  the  human  mind, 
in  the  midst  of  which  we  ourselves  are  living.  The 
Renaissance  opened  for  it  a  world  of  mental  activity 
which  had  the  inappreciable  intellectual  advantage  of 
lying  well  outside  of  the  popular  beliefs  and  ideas,  so 
that  cultivated  men  found  in  it  an  escape  from  the 
pressure  of  the  uneducated ;  but  the  new  scientific 
expansion  offers  us  a  region  governed  by  laws  of  a 
kind  peculiar  to  itself,  which  protect  those  who  conform 
to  them  against  every  assailant.  It  is  a  region  in 
which  authority  is  unknown,  for,  however  illustrious 
any  great  man  may  appear  in  it,  every  statement  that 
he  makes  is  subject  to  verification.  Here  the  knowl- 
edge of  ancient  writers  is  continually  superseded  by 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  213 

the  better  and  more  accurate  knowledge  of  their  suc- 
cessors ;  so  that  whereas  in  religion  and  learning  the 
most  ancient  writings  are  the  most  esteemed,  in  science 
it  is  often  the  most  recent,  and  even  these  have  no 
authorit}'  which  may  not  be  called  in  question  freely 
by  any  student.  The  new  scientific  culture  is  thus 
encouraging  a  habit  of  mind  different  from  old  habits, 
and  which  in  our  time  has  caused  such  a  degree  of 
separation  that  the  most  important  and  the  most  inter- 
esting of  all  topics  are  those  upon  which  we  scarcely 
dare  to  venture  for  fear  of  being  misunderstood. 

If  I  had  to  condense  in  a  short  space  the  various 
reasons  why  we  are  apparently  becoming  less  religious, 
I  should  say  that  it* is  because  knowledge  and  feeling, 
embodied  or  expressed  in  the  sciences  and  arts,  are 
now  too  fulty  and  too  variously  developed  to  remain 
within  the  limits  of  what  is  considered  sacred  knowl- 
edge or  religious  emotion.  It  was  possible  for  them  to 
remain  well  within  those  limits  in  ancient  times,  and  it 
is  still  possible  for  a  mind  of  very  limited  activity  and 
range  to  dwell  almost  entirely  in  what  was  known  or 
felt  at  the  time  of  Christ ;  but  this  is  not  possible  for 
an  energetic  and  inquiring  mind,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  the  energetic  mind  will  seem  to  the  other,  by 
contrast,  to  be  negligent  of  holy  things,  and  too  much 
occupied  with  purely  secular  interests  and  concerns. 
A  great  misunderstanding  arises  from  this,  which  has 
often  had  a  lamentable  effect  on  intercourse  between 
relations  and  friends.  Pious  ladies,  to  whom  theologi- 
cal writings  appear  to  contain  almost  everything  that 
it  is  desirable  to  know,  often  look  with  secret  misgiving 


214          APPARENTLY  LESS  RELIGIOUS. 

or  suspicion  on  young  men  of  vigorous  intellect  who 
cannot  rest  satisfied  with  the  old  knowledge,  and  what 
such  ladies  vaguely  hear  of  the  speculations  of  the 
famous  scientific  leaders  inspires  them  with  profound 
alarm.  They  think  that  we  are  becoming  less  religious 
because  theological  writings  do  not  occupy  the  same 
space  in  our  time  and  thoughts  as  they  do  in  theirs ; 
whereas,  if  such  a  matter  could  be  put  to  any  kind  of 
positive  test,  it  would  probably  be  found  that  we  know 
more,  even  of  their  own  theolog}T,  than  they  do,  and 
that,  instead  of  being  indifferent  to  the  great  problems 
of  the  universe,  we  have  given  to  such  problems  an 
amount  of  careful  thought  far  surpassing,  in  mental 
effort,  their  own  simple  acquiescence.  The  opinions 
of  a  thoughtful  and  studious  man  in  the  present  day 
have  never  been  lightly  come  by  ;  and  if  he  is  supposed 
to  be  less  religious  than  his  father  or  his  grandfather  it 
may  be  that  his  religion  is  different  from  theirs,  with- 
out being  either  less  earnest  or  less  enlightened. 
There  is,  however,  one  point  of  immense  importance 
on  which  I  believe  that  we  really  are  becoming  less 
religious,  indeed  on  that  point  we  seem  to  be  rapidly 
abandoning  the  religious  principle  altogether ;  but  the 
subject  is  of  too  much  consequence  to  be  treated  at 
the  end  of  an  Essay. 


HE  ALLY  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  215 


ESSAY    XV. 

HOW  WE  ARE  REALLY  BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS. 


HT^HE  reader  may  remember  how,  after  the  long  and 
•*•  unsuccessful  siege  of  Syracuse,  the  Athenian 
general  Nikias,  seeing  his  discouraged  troops  ill  with 
the  fever  from  the  marshes,  determined  to  raise  the 
siege  ;  and  that,  when  his  soldiers  were  preparing  to 
retreat,  and  striking  their  tents  for  the  march,  there 
occurred  an  eclipse  of  the  moon.  Nikias,  in  his  anx- 
iety to  know  what  the  gods  meant  by  this  with  reference 
to  him  and  his  army,  at  once  consulted  a  soothsayer, 
who  told  him  that  he  would  incur  the  Divine  anger  if 
he  did  not  remain  where  he  was  for  three  times  nine 
days.  He  remained,  doing  nothing,  allowing  his  troops 
to  perish  and  his  ships  to  be  shut  up  by  a  line  of  the 
enemy's  vessels  chained  together  across  the  entrance 
of  the  port.  At  length  the  three  times  nine  days  came 
to  an  end,  and  what  was  left  of  the  Athenian  army  had 
to  get  out  of  a  situation  that  had  become  infinitely  more 
difficult  during  its  inaction.  The  ships  tried  to  get  out 
in  vain  ;  the  army  was  able  to  retreat  by  land,  but 
only  to  be  harassed  by  the  enemy,  and  finally  placed 
in  such  distress  that  it  was  compelled  to  surrender. 
Most  of  the  remnant  died  miserably  in  the  old  quar- 
ries of  Syracuse. 

The  conduct  of  Nikias  throughout  these  events  was 


216  HOW   WE  ARE  REALLY 

in  the  highest  degree  religious.  He  was  fully  con- 
vinced that  the  gods  concerned  themselves  about  him 
and  his  doings,  that  they  were  watching  over  him,  and 
that  the  eclipse  was  a  communication  from  them  not 
to  be  neglected  without  a  breach  of  religious  duty.  He, 
therefore,  in  the  spirit  of  the  most  perfect  religious 
faith,  which  we  are  compelled  to  admire  for  its  sin- 
cerity and  thoroughness,  shut  his  eyes  resolutely  to  all 
the  visible  facts  of  a  situation  more  disastrous  every 
day,  and  attended  only  to  the  invisible  action  of  the 
invisible  gods,  of  which  nothing  could  be  really  known 
by  him.  For  twenty-seven  days  he  went  on  quietlj* 
sacrificing  his  soldiers  to  his  faith,  and  only  moved  at 
last  when  he  believed  that  the  gods  allowed  it. 

In  contrast  with  this,  let  us  ask  what  we  think  of  an 
eclipse  ourselves,  and  how  far  any  religious  emotion, 
determinant  of  action  or  of  inaction,  is  connected  with 
the  phenomenon  in  our  experience.  We  know,  in  the 
first  place,  that  eclipses  belong  to  the  natural  order, 
and  we  do  not  feel  either  grateful  to  the  supernatural 
powers,  or  ungrateful,  with  regard  to  them.  Even  the 
idea  that  eclipses  demonstrate  the  power  of  God  is 
hardly  likely  to  occur  to  us,  for  we  constantly  see 
terrestrial  objects  eclipsed  by  cast  shadows  ;  and  the 
mere  falling  of  a  shadow  is  to  us  only  the  natural  in- 
terruption of  light  by  the  intervention  of  any  opaque 
object.  In  the  true  theory  of  eclipses  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  ground  whatever  for  religious  emotion,  and 
accordingly  the  phenomenon  is  now  entirely  discon- 
nected from  religious  ideas.  The  consequence  is  that 
where  the  Athenian  general  had  a  strong  motive  for 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  217 

religious  emotion,  a  motive  so  strong  that  he  sacrificed 
his  arm}^  to  the  supposed  will  of  Heaven,  a  modern 
general  in  the  same  situation  would  feel  no  emotion 
and  make  no  sacrifice. 

If  this  process  stopped  at  eclipses  the  result  would 
be  of  little  importance,  as  eclipses  of  the  celestial  bodies 
are  not  frequently  visible,  and  to  lose  the  opportunity 
of  emotion  which  they  present  is  not  a  very  sensible 
loss.  But  so  far  is  the  process  from  stopping  at  eclipses, 
that  exactly  the  same  process  is  going  on  with  regard 
to  thousands  of  other  phenomena  which  are  one  by  one, 
yet  with  increasing  rapidit}',  ceasing  to  be  regarded  as 
special  manifestations  of  Divine  will,  and  beginning  to 
be  regarded  as  a  part  of  that  order  of  nature  with 
which,  to  quote  Professor  Huxley's  significant  language, 
4 1  nothing  interferes."  Every  one  of  these  transferrences 
from  supernatural  government  to  natural  order  deprives 
the  religious  sentiment  of  one  special  cause  or  motive 
for  its  own  peculiar  kind  of  emotion,  so  that  we  are 
becoming  less  and  less  accustomed  to  such  emotion  (as 
the  opportunities  for  it  become  less  frequent) ,  and  more 
and  more  accustomed  to  accept  events  and  phenomena 
of  all  kinds  as  in  that  order  of  nature  ' '  with  which 
nothing  interferes." 

This  single  mental  conception  of  the  unfailing  regu- 
larity of  nature  is  doing  more  in  our  time  to  affect  the 
religious  condition  of  thoughtful  people  than  could  be 
effected  by  many  less  comprehensive  conceptions. 

It  has  often  been  said,  not  untruly,  that  merely  nega- 
tive arguments  have  little  permanent  influence  over  the 
opinions  of  men,  and  that  institutions  which  have  been 


218  HOW    WE  ARE  REALLY 

temporarily  overthrown  by  negation  will  shortly  be  set 
up  again,  and  flourish  in  their  old  vigor,  unless  some- 
thing positive  can  be  found  to  supply  their  place.  But 
here  is  a  doctrine  of  a  most  positive  kind.  "  The  order 
of  nature  is  invariably  according  to  regular  sequences." 
It  is  a  doctrine  which  cannot  be  proved,  for  we  cannot 
follow  all  the  changes  which  have  ever  taken  place  in 
the  universe  ;  but,  although  incapable  of  demonstration, 
it  may  be  accepted  until  something  happens  to  disprove 
it ;  and  it  is  accepted,  with  the  most  absolute  faith,  by 
a  constantly  increasing  number  of  adherents. 

To  show  how  this  doctrine  acts  in  diminishing  re- 
ligious emotion  by  taking  away  the  opportunity  for  it, 
let  me  narrate  an  incident  which  really  occurred  on  a 
French  line  of  railway  in  the  winter  of  1882.  The  line, 
on  which  I  had  travelled  a  few  days  before,  passes 
between  a  river  and  a  hill.  The  river  has  a  rocky  bed 
and  is  torrential  in  winter ;  the  hill  is  densely  covered 
with  a  pine  forest  coming  down  to  the  side  of  the  line. 
The  year  1882  had  been  the  rainiest  known  in  France 
for  two  centuries,  and  the  roots  of  the  trees  on  the  edge 
of  this  pine  forest  had  been  much  loosened  by  the  rain. 
In  consequence  of  this,  two  large  pine-trees  fell  across 
the  railway  early  one  morning,  and  soon  afterwards  a 
train  approached  the  spot  by  the  dim  light  of  early 
dawn.  There  was  a  curve  just  before  the  engine 
reached  the  trees,  and  it  had  come  rapidly  for  several 
miles  down  a  decline.  The  driver  reversed  his  steam, 
the  engine  and  tender  leaped  over  the  trees,  and  then 
went  over  the  embankment  to  a  place  within  six  feet 
of  the  rapid  river.  The  carriages  remained  on  the  line, 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  210 

but  were  much  broken.  Nobocty  was  killed ;  nobody 
was  seriously  injured.  The  remarkable  escape  of  the 
passengers  was  accounted  for  as  follows  by  the  religious 
people  in  the  neighborhood.  There  happened  to  be  a 
priest  in  the  train,  and  at  the  time  when  the  shock  took 
place  he  made  what  is  called  ua  pious  ejaculation." 
This,  it  was  said,  had  saved  the  lives  of  the  passengers. 
In  the  ages  of  faith  this  explanation  would  have  been 
received  without  question ;  but  the  notion  of  natural 
sequences  —  Professor  Huxley's  "order  with  which 
nothing  interferes  "  —  had  obtained  such  firm  hold  on 
the  minds  of  the  townsmen  generally  that  they  said  the 
priest  was  trying  to  make  ecclesiastical  capital  out  of 
an  occurrence  easily  explicable  by  natural  causes. 
They  saw  nothing  supernatural  either  in  \he  produc- 
tion of  the  accident  or  its  comparative  harmlessness. 
The  trickling  of  much  water  had  denuded  the  roots  of 
the  trees,  which  fell  because  they  could  not  stand  with 
insufficient  roothold ;  the  lives  of  the  passengers  were 
saved  because  the}7  did  not  happen  to  be  in  the  most 
shattered  carriage  ;  and  the  men  on  the  engine  escaped 
because  they  fell  on  soft  ground,  made  softer  still  by 
the  rain.  It  was  probable,  too,  they  said,  that  if  any 
beneficent  supernatural  interference  had  taken  place  it 
would  have  maintained  the  trees  in  an  erect  position,  b}' 
preventive  miracle,  and  so  spared  the  slight  injuries 
which  really  were  inflicted,  and  which,  though  treated 
very  lightly  by  others  because  there  were  neither  deaths 
nor  amputations,  still  caused  suffering  to  those  who  had 
to  bear  them. 

Now  if  we  go  a  little  farther  into  the  effects  of  this 


220  HOW   WE  ARE   REALLY 

accident  on  the  minds  of  the  people  who  shared  in  it, 
or  whose  friends  had  been  imperilled  03^  it,  we  shall 
see  very  plain!}'  the  effect  of  the  modern  belief  in  the 
regularity  of  natural  sequences.  Those  who  believed 
in  supernatural  intervention  would  offer  thanksgivings 
when  they  got  home,  and  probably  go  through  some 
special  religious  thanksgiving  services  for  many  days 
afterwards ;  those  who  believed  in  the  regularity  of 
natural  sequences  would  simply  feel  glad  to  have  es- 
caped, without  any  especial  sense  of  gratitude  to  super- 
natural powers.  So  much  for  the  effect  as  far  as 
thanksgiving  is  concerned  ;  but  there  is  another  side 
of  the  matter  at  least  equally  important  from  the  re- 
ligious point  of  view,  —  that  of  prayer.  The  believers 
in  supernatural  interference  would  probably,  in  all  their 
future  railway  journeys,  pray  to  be  supernaturally  pro- 
tected in  case  of  accident,  as  they  had  been  in  1882  ; 
but  the  believers  in  the  regularity  of  natural  sequences 
would  only  hope  that  no  trees  had  fallen  across  the 
line,  and  feel  more  than  usually  anxious  after  long  sea- 
sons of  rainy  weather.  Can  there  be  a  doubt  that  the 
priest's  opinion,  that  he  had  won  safety  by  a  pious 
ejaculation,  was  highly  favorable  to  his  religious  activity 
afterwards,  whilst  the  opinion  of  the  believers  in  "  the 
natural  order  with  which  nothing  interferes  "  was  un- 
favorable both  to  prayer  and  thanksgiving  in  connec- 
tion with  railway  travelling  ? 

Examples  of  this  kind  might  easily  be  multiplied,  for 
there  is  hardly  any  enterprise  that  men  undertake,  how- 
ever apparently  unimportant,  which  cannot  be  regarded 
both  from  the  points  of  view  of  naturalism  and  super- 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  221 

naturalism  ;  and  in  every  case  the  naturalist  manner 
of  regarding  the  enterprise  leads  men  to  study  the 
probable  influence  of  natural  causes,  whilst  the  super- 
naturalist  opinion  leads  them  to  propitiate  supernatural 
powers.  Now,  although  some  new  sense  may  come  to 
be  attached  to  the  word  "  religion"  in  future  ages,  so 
that  it  may  come  to  mean  scientific  thoroughness,  intel- 
lectual ingenuousness,  or  some  other  virtue  that  may  be 
possessed  by  a  pure  naturalist,  the  word  has  always 
been  understood,  down  to  the  present  time,  to  imply 
a  constant  dependence  upon  the  supernatural ;  and  when 
I  say  that  we  are  becoming  less  religious,  I  mean  that 
from  our  increasing  tendency  to  refer  everything  to 
natural  causes  the  notion  of  the  supernatural  is  much 
less  frequently  present  in  our  minds  than  it  was  in  the 
minds  of  our  forefathers.  Even  the  clergy  themselves 
seem  to  be  following  the  laity  towards  the  belief  in 
natural  law,  at  least  so  far  as  matter  is  concerned. 
The  Bishop  of  Melbourne,  in  1882,  declined  to  order 
pra}Ters  for  rain,  and  gave  his  reason  honestly,  which 
was  that  material  phenomena  were  under  the  control 
of  natural  law,  and  would  not  be  changed  in  answer  to 
prayer.  The  Bishop  added  that  prayer  should  be  con- 
fined to  spiritual  blessings.  Without  disputing  the 
soundness  of  this  opinion,  we  cannot  help  perceiving 
that  if  it  were  generally  received  it  would  put  an  end 
to  one  half  of  the  religious  activity  of  the  human  race  ; 
for  half  the  prayers  and  half  the  thanksgivings  ad- 
dressed to  the  supernatural  powers  are  for  material 
benefits  only.  It  is  possible  that,  in  the  future,  re- 
ligious people  will  cease  to  pray  for  health,  but  take 


222  HOW    WE  ARE  REALLY 

practical  precautions  to  preserve  it ;  that  they  will  cease 
to  pray  for  prosperity,  but  study  the  natural  laws  which 
govern  the  wealth  of  nations  ;  that  they  will  no  longer 
pray  for  the  national  fleets  and  armies,  but  see  that  they 
are  well  supplied  and  intelligently  commanded.      All 
this  and  much  more  is  possible ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
pass  the  world  will  be  less  religious  than  it  was  when 
men  believed  that  every  pestilence,  every  famine,  every 
defeat,  was  a  chastisement  specially,  directly,  and  in- 
tentionally inflicted  by  an  angry  Deity.      Even  now, 
what  an  immense  step  has  been  made  in  this  direction ! 
In  the  fearful  description  of  the  pestilence  at  Florence, 
given  with  so  much  detail  by  Boccaccio,  he  speaks  of 
"Fira   di   Dio   a  punire  la  iniquita  degli   uomini  con 
quella  pestilenza ; "  and  he  specially  implies  that  those 
who  sought  to  avoid  the  plague  by  going  to  healthier 
places  in  the  county  deceived  themselves  in  supposing 
that  the  wrath  of  God  would  not  follow  them  whither- 
soever the}r  went.     That  is  the  old  belief  expressing 
itself  in  prayers  and  humiliations.    It  is  still  recognized 
officially.     If  the  plague  could  occur  in  a  town  on  the 
whole  so  well  cared  for  as  modern  London,  the  language 
of  Boccaccio  would  still  be  used  in  the  official  public 
praj'ers  ;  but  the  active- minded  practical  citizens  would 
be  thinking  how  to  destroy  the  germs,  how  to  purify 
air  and  water.    An  instance  of  this  divergence  occurred 
after  the  Egyptian  war  of  1882.     The  Archbishop  of 
York,  after  the  battle  of  Tel-el-Kebir,  ordered  thanks- 
givings to  be  offered  in  the  churches,  on  the  ground  that 
God  was  in  Sir  Garnet  Wolseley's  camp  and  fought 
with  him  against  the  Egyptians,  which  was  a  survival 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  223 

of  the  antique  idea  that  national  deities  fought  with  the 
national  armies.  On  this  a  Member  of  Parliament, 
Mr.  George  Palmer,  said  to  his  constituents  in  a  public 
meeting  at  Reading,  "  At  the  same  time  I  cannot  agree 
with  the  prayers  that  have  been  made  in  churches. 
Though  I  respect  the  consciences  of  other  men,  I  must 
say  that  it  was  not  by  Divine  interference,  but  from  the 
stuff  of  which  our  army  was  made  and  our  great  iron- 
clads, that  victory  was  achieved."  I  do  not  quote  this 
opinion  for  any  originality  in  itself,  as  there  have 
always  been  men  who  held  that  victor}7  was  a  necessary 
result  of  superior  military  efficienc}',  but  I  quote  it  as 
a  valuable  test  of  the  change  in  general  opinion.  It  is 
possible  that  such  views  may  have  been  expressed  in 
private  in  all  ages  of  the  world ;  but  I  doubt  if  in  any 
age  preceding  ours  a  public  man,  at  the  very  time  when 
he  was  cultivating  the  good  graces  of  his  electors,  would 
have  refused  to  the  national  Deity  a  special  share  in  a 
military  triumph.  To  an  audience  imbrued  with  the 
old  conception  of  incessant  supernatural  interferences, 
the  doctrine  that  a  victory  was  a  natural  result  would 
have  sounded  impious ;  and  such  an  audience,  if  any 
one  had  ventured  to  say  what  Mr.  Palmer  said,  would 
have  received  him  with  a  burst  of  indignation.  But 
Mr.  Palmer  knew  the  tendencies  of  the  present  age, 
and  was  quite  correct  in  thinking  that  he  might  safely 
express  his  views.  His  hearers  were  not  indignant, 
they  were  not  even  grave  and  silent,  as  Englishmen  are 
when  they  simply  disapprove,  but  they  listened  will- 
ingly, and  marked  their  approbation  by  laughter  and 
cheers.  Even  a  clergyman  may  hold  Mr.  Palmer's 


224  HOW   WE  ARE  REALLY 

opinion.  Soon  after  his  speech  at  Reading  the  Rev.  H. 
R.  Haweis  said  the  same  thing  in  the  pulpit.  "  Few 
people,"  he  said,  u  really  doubt  that  we  have  conquered 
the  Egyptians,  not  because  we  were  in  the  right  and 
they  were  in  the  wrong,  but  because  we  had  the  heav- 
iest hand."  The  preacher  went  on  to  say  that  the  idea 
of  God  fighting  on  one  side  more  than  another  in  par- 
ticular battles  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  Pagan  or  at  most 
a  Jewish  one.  How  different  was  the  old  sentiment  as 
expressed  by  Macaulay  in  the  stirring  ballad  of  Ivry ! 
"We  of  the  religion"  had  no  doubt  about  the  Divine 
interference  in  the  battle, 

"  For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised  the 

slave, 

And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the  valor  of  the  brave ; 
Then  glory  to  his  holy  name  from  whom  all  glories  are, 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry  of  Navarre !  " 

The  way  in  which  the  great  mental  movement  of  our 
age  towards  a  more  complete  recognition  of  natural 
order  is  affecting  human  intercourse  ma}T  be  defined  in 
a  few  words.  If  the  movement  were  at  an  equal  rate 
of  advance  for  all  civilized  people  they  would  be  per- 
fect^ agreed  amongst  themselves  at  any  one  point  of 
time,  as  it  would  be  settled  which  events  were  natural 
in  their  origin  and  which  were  due  to  the  interposition 
of  Divine  or  diabolical  agency.  Living  people  would 
differ  in  opinion  from  their  predecessors,  but  they  would 
not  differ  from  each  other.  The  change,,  however, 
though  visible  and  important,  is  not  by  any  means 
uniform,  so  that  a  guest  sitting  at  dinner  may  have  on 
his  right  hand  a  lady  who  sees  supernatural  interfer- 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  225 

ences  in  man}*  things,  and  on  his  left  a  student  of 
science  who  is  firmly  convinced  that  there  are  no  super- 
natural interferences  in  the  present,  and  that  there 
never  have  been  any  in  the  past.  Private  opinion,  out 
of  which  public  opinion  slowly  and  gradually  forms 
itself,  is  in  our  time  in  a  state  of  complete  anarchy,  be- 
cause two  opposite  doctrines  are  held  loosety,  and  one 
or  the  other  is  taken  up  as  it  happens  to  seem  appro- 
priate. The  interpositions  of  Providence  are  recognized 
or  rejected  according  to  political  or  personal  bias.  The 
French  Imperialists  saw  the  Divine  vengeance  in  the 
death  of  Gambetta,  whilst  in  their  view  the  death  of 
Napoleon  III.  was  the  natural  termination  of  his  dis- 
ease, and  that  of  the  Prince  Imperial  a  simple  accident, 
due  to  the  carelessness  of  his  English  companions. 
Personal  bias  shows  itself  in  the  belief,  often  held  by 
men  occupying  positions  of  importance,  that  they  are 
necessary,  at  least  for  a  time,  to  fulfil  the  intentions 
of  Providence.  Napoleon  III.  said  In  a  moment  of 
emotion,  u  So  long  as  I  am  needed  I  am  invulnerable  ; 
but  when  my  hour  comes  I  shall  be  broken  like  glass !  " 
Even  in  private  life  a  man  will  sometimes  think,  "  I 
am  so  necessary  to  my  wife  and  family  that  Providence 
will  not  remove  me,"  though  every  newspaper  reports 
the  deaths  of  fathers  who  leave  their  families  destitute. 
Sometimes  men  believe  that  Providence  takes  the  same 
view  of  their  enterprises  that  they  themselves  take  ;  and 
when  a  great  enterprise  is  drawing  near  to  its  termina- 
tion they  feel  assured  that  supernatural  power  will  pro- 
tect them  till  it  is  quite  concluded,  but  they  believe 
that  the  enterprises  of  other  men  are  exposed  to  all 
15 


226  HOW   WE  ARE  REALLY 

the  natural  risks.  When  Mr.  Gifford  Palgrave  was 
wrecked  in  the  sea  of  Oman,  he  was  for  some  time  in 
an  open  boat,  and  thus  describes  his  situation:  "All 
depended  on  the  steerage,  and  on  the  balance  and  sup- 
port afforded  by  the  oars,  and  even  more  still  on  the 
Providence  of  Him  who  made  the  deep ;  nor  indeed 
could  I  get  myself  to  think  that  He  had  brought  me  thus 
far  to  let  me  drown  just  at  the  end  of  my  journey,  and 
in  so  very  unsatisfactory  a  way  too ;  for  had  we  then 
gone  down,  what  news  of  the  event  off  Sowadah  would 
ever  have  reached  home,  or  when  ?  —  so  that  altogether 
I  felt  confident  of  getting  somehow  or  other  on  shore, 
though  by  what  means  I  did  not  exactly  know."  Here 
the  writer  thinks  of  his  own  enterprise  as  deserving 
Divine  solicitude,  but  does  not  attach  the  same  impor- 
tance to  the  humbler  enterprises  of  the  six  passengers 
who  went  down  with  the  vessel.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing, too,  of  the  poor  passenger  Ibraheem,  who  swam  to 
the  boat  and  begged  so  piteously  to  be  taken  in,  when 
a  sailor  "loosened  his  grasp  by  main  force  and  flung 
him  back  into  the  sea,  where  he  disappeared  forever." 
Neither  can  I  forget  the  four  who  imprudently  plunged 
from  the  boat  and  perished.  We  may  well  believe  that 
these  lost  ones  would  have  been  unable  to  write  such 
a  delightful  and  instructive  book  as  Mr.  Palgrave's 
"  Travels  in  Arabia,"  yet  they  must  have  had  their  own 
humble  interests  in  life,  t&eir  .own  little  objects  &n4 
enterprises. 

The  calculation  that  Providence  would  spare  a  trav- 
eller towards  the  close  of  a  long  journey  may  be  mis- 
taken, but  it  is  pious  ;  it  affords  an  opportunity  for  the 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  227 

exercise  of  devout  emotion  which  the  scientific  thinker 
would  miss.  If  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  had  been  placed 
in  the  same  situation  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  felt  the 
most  perfect  confidence  that  the  order  of  nature  would 
not  be  disturbed,  that  even  in  such  a  turmoil  of  winds 
and  waters  the  laws  of  buoyancy  and  stability  would  be 
observed  in  every  motion  of  the  boat  to  the  millionth 
of  an  inch ;  but  he  would  not  have  considered  himself 
likely  to  escape  death  on  account  of  the  important 
nature  of  his  undertakings.  Mr.  Spencer's  way  of 
judging  the  situation  as  one  of  equal  peril  for  himself 
and  his  humble  companions  would  have  been  more 
reasonable,  but  at  the  same  time  he  would  have  lost 
that  opportunit}'  for  special  and  personal  gratitude 
which  Mr.  Palgrave  enjoyed  when  he  believed  himself 
to  be  supernaturally  protected.  The  curious  incon- 
sistency of  the  common  French  expression,  "  C'est  un 
hasard  providentiel "  is  another  example  of  the  present 
state  of  thought  on  the  question.  A  Frenchman  is 
upset  from  a  carriage,  breaks  no  bones,  and  stands  up, 
exclaiming,  as  he  dusts  himself,  "  It  was  un  hasard 
vraiment  providentiel  that  I  was  not  lamed  for  life." 
It  is  plain  that  if  his  escape  was  providential  it  could 
not  be  accidental  at  the  same  time,  }*et  in  spite  of  the 
obvious  inconsistency  of  his  expression  there  is  piety 
in  his  choice  of  an  adjective. 

The  distinction,  as  it  has  usually  been  understood 
hitherto,  between  religious  and  non-religious  explana- 
tions of  what  happens,  is  that  the  religious  person  be- 
lieves that  events  happen  by  supernatural  direction, 
and  he  is  only  thinking  religiously  so  long  as  he 


228  HOW  WE  ARE  REALLY 

thinks  in  that  manner ;  whilst  the  non-religious  theory 
is  that  events  happen  b}7  natural  sequence,  and  so  long 
as  a  person  thinks  in  this  manner,  his  mind  is  acting 
non-religiously,  whatever  may  be  his  religious  profes- 
sion. "To  study  the  universe  as  it  is  manifested  to 
us ;  to  ascertain  by  patient  inquiry  the  order  of  the 
manifestations ;  to  discover  that  the  manifestations  are 
connected  with  one  another  after  regular  ways  in  time 
and  space ;  and,  after  repeated  failures,  to  give  up  as 
futile  the  attempt  to  understand  the  power  manifested, 
is  condemned  as  irreligious.  And  meanwhile  the  char- 
acter of  religious  is  claimed  by  those  who  figure  to 
themselves  a  Creator  moved  by  motives  like  their  own ; 
who  conceive  themselves  as  seeing  through  His  designs, 
and  who  even  speak  of  Him  as  though  He  laid  plans  t*> 
outwit  the  Devil !  " 

Yes,  this  is  a  true  account  of  the  way  in  which  tb- 
words  irreligious  and  religious  have  always  been  used 
and  there  does  not  appear  to  be  any  necessity  for  alter 
ing  their  signification.  Every  event  which  is  trans- 
ferred, in  human  opinion,  from  supernatural  to  natural 
action  is  transferred  from  the  domain  of  religion 
to  that  of  science ;  and  it  is  because  such  transfer- 
ences have  been  so  frequent  in  our  time  that  we  are 
becoming  so  much  less  religious  than  our  forefathers 
were.  In  how  many  things  is  the  modern  man  per- 
fectly irreligious !  He  is  so  in  everything  that  relates 
to  applied  science,  to  steam,  telegraphy,  photography, 
metallurgy,  agriculture,  manufactures.  He  has  not 
the  slightest  belief  in  spiritual  intervention,  either  for 
or  against  him,  in  these  material  processes.  He  is 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  229 

beginning  to  be  equally  irreligious  in  government. 
Modern  politicians  have  been  accused  of  thinking  that 
God  cannot  govern,  but  that  is  not  a  true  account 
of  their  opinion.  What  they  really  think  is  that 
government  is  an  application  of  science  to  the  direc- 
tion of  national  life,  in  which  no  invisible  powers  will 
either  thwart  a  ruler  in  that  which  he  does  wisely,  or 
shield  him  from  the  evil  consequences  of  his  errors. 

But  though  we  are  less  religious  than  our  ancestors 
because  we  believe  less  in  the  interferences  of  the  super- 
natural, do  we  deserve  censure  for  our  way  of  under- 
standing the  world?  Certainly  not.  Was  Nikias  a 
proper  object  of  praise  because  the  eclipse  seen  by  him 
at  Syracuse  seemed  a  warning  from  the  gods  ;  and  was 
Wolseley  a  proper  object  of  blame  because  the  comet 
seen  by  him  on  the  Egyptian  plain  was  without  a  Divine 
message?  Both  these  opinions  are  quite  outside  of 
merit,  although  the  older  opinion  was  in  the  highest 
degree  religious,  and  the  later  one  is  not  religious  in  the 
least.  Such  changes  simply  indicate  a  gradual  revolu- 
tion in  man's  conception  of  the  universe,  which  is  the 
result  of  more  accurate  knowledge.  So  why  not  accept 
the  fact,  why  not  admit  that  we  have  really  become 
less  religious?  Possibly  we  have  a  compensation,  a 
gain  equivalent  to  our  loss.  If  the  gods  do  not  speak 
to  us  by  signs  in  the  heavens ;  if  the  entrails  of  victims 
and  the  flight  of  birds  no  longer  tell  us  when  to  march 
to  battle  and  where  to  remain  inactive  in  our  tents ;  if 
the  oracle  is  silent  at  Delos,  and  the  ark  lost  to  Jeru- 
salem ;  if  we  are  pilgrims  to  no  shrine ;  if  we  drink  of 
no  sacred  fountain  and  plunge  into  no  holy  stream ;  if 


230  HOW   WE  ARE  REALLY 

all  the  special  sanctities  once  reverenced  by  humanity 
are  unable  any  longer  to  awaken  our  dead  enthusiasm, 
have  we  gained  nothing  in  exchange  for  the  many 
religious  excitements  that  we  have  lost?  Yes,  we  have 
gained  a  keener  interest  in  the  natural  order,  and  a 
knowledge  of  it  at  once  more  accurate  and  more  exten- 
sive, a  gain  that  Greek  and  Jew  might  well  have 
envied  us,  and  which  a  few  of  their  keener  spirits  most 
ardently  desired.  Our  passion  for  natural  knowledge 
is  not  a  devout  emotion,  and  therefore  it  is  not  religious ; 
but  it  is  a  noble  and  a  fruitful  passion  nevertheless,  and 
by  it  our  e}Tes  are  opened.  The  good  Saint  Bernard 
had  his  own  saintly  qualities ;  but  for  us  the  qualities 
of  a  De  Saussure  are  not  without  their  worth.  Saint 
Bernard,  in  the  perfection  of  ancient  piety,  travelling 
a  whole  da}r  by  the  lake  of  Geneva  without  seeing  it, 
too  much  absorbed  by  devout  meditation  to  perceive 
anything  terrestrial,  was  blinded  by  his  piety,  and  might 
with  equal  profit  have  stayed  in  his  monastic  cell.  De 
Saussure  was  a  man  of  our  own  time.  Never,  in  his 
writings,  do  you  meet  with  any  allusion  to  supernatural 
interferences  (except  once  or  twice  in  pity  for  popular 
superstitions)  ;  but  fancy  De  Saussure  passing  the  lake 
of  Geneva,  or  any  other  work  of  nature,  without  seeing 
it !  His  life  was  spent  in  the  continual  study  of  the 
natural  world ;  and  this  study  was  to  htm  so  vigorous 
an  exercise  for  the  mind,  and  so  strict  a  discipline,  that 
he  found  in  it  a  means  of  moral  and  even  of  physical 
improvement.  There  is  no  trace  in  his  writings  of  what 
is  called  devout  emotion,  but  the  bright  light  of  intelli- 
gent admiration  illumines  every  page ;  and  when  he 


BECOMING  LESS  RELIGIOUS.  231 

came  to  die,  if  he  could  not  look  back,  like  Saint  Ber- 
nard, upon  what  is  especially  supposed  to  be  a  religious 
life,  he  could  look  back  upon  many  years  wisely  and 
well  spent  in  the  study  of  that  nature  of  which  Saint 
Bernard  scarcely  knew  more  than  the  mule  that  carried 
him 


232  UNRECOGNIZED   UNTRUTH. 


ESSAY    XVI. 

ON  AN  UNRECOGNIZED  FORM  OF  UNTRUTH. 

TN  the  art  of  painting  there  are  two  opposite  ways  of 
•*-  dealing  with  natural  color.  It  may  be  intensified, 
or  it  may  be  translated  by  tints  of  inferior  chromatic 
force.  In  either  case  the  picture  may  be  perfectly 
harmonious,  provided  only  that  the  same  principle  of 
interpretation  be  consistently  followed  throughout. 

The  first  time  that  I  became  acquainted  with  the 
first  of  these  two  methods  of  interpretation  was  in  my 
youth,  when  I  met  with  a  Scottish  painter  who  has  since 
becpme  eminent  in  his  art.  He  was  painting  studies 
from  nature  ;  and  I  noticed  that  whenever  in  the  natural 
object  there  was  a  trace  of  dull  gold,  as  in  some  lichen, 
he  made  it  a  brighter  gold,  and  whenever  there  was  a 
little  rusty  red  he  made  it  a  more  vivid  red.  So  it  was 
with  every  other  tint.  His  eye  seemed  to  become  ex- 
cited by  eveiy  hue,  and  he  translated  it  by  one  of 
greater  intensity  and  power. 

Now  that  is  a  kind  of  exaggeration  which  is  very 
commonly  recognized  as  a  departure  from  the  sober 
truth.  People  complain  that  the  sky  is  too  blue,  the 
fields  too  green,  and  so  on. 

Afterwards  I  saw  French  painters  at  work,  and  I 
noticed  that  they  (in  those  days)  interpreted  natural 
color  by  an  intentional  lowering  of  the  chromatic  force. 


UNRECOGNIZED    UNTRUTH.  238 

When  they  had  to  deal  with  the  splendors  of  autumnal 
woods  against  a  blue  sky  the}'  interpreted  the  azure  by 
a  blue-gray,  and  the  flaming  gold  by  a  dull  russet. 
They  even  refused  themselves  the  more  quiet  bright- 
ness of  an  ordinary  wheat-field,  and  translated  the 
yellow  of  the  wheat  by  an  earthy  brown. 

Unlike  falsehood  by  exaggeration,  this  other  kind  of 
falsehood  (by  diminution)  is  very  seldom  recognized  as 
a  departure  from  the  truth.  Such  coloring  as  this 
French  coloring  excited  but  few  protests,  and  indeed 
was  often  praised  for  being  "  modest"  and  u  subdued." 

Both  systems  are  equally  permissible  in  the  fine  arts, 
if  consistently  followed,  because  in  art  the  unit}*  and 
harmony  of  the  work  are  of  greater  importance  than 
the  exact  imitation  of  nature.  It  is  not  as  an  art-critic 
that  I  should  have  any  fault  to  find  with  a  well-under- 
stood and  thoroughly  consistent  conventionalism  In  the 
iuterpretation  of  nature ;  but  the  two  kinds  of  falsity 
we  have  noticed  are  constantly  found  in  action  outside 
of  the  fine  arts,  and  yet  only  one  of  them  is  recognized 
in  its  true  character,  the  other  being  esteemed  as  a  proof 
of  modesty  and  moderation. 

The  general  opinion,  in  our  own  country,  condemns 
falsehood  by  exaggeration,  but  it  does  not  blame  false- 
hood by  diminution.  Overstatement  is  regarded  as  a 
vice,  and  understatement  as  a  sort  of  modest  virtue, 
whilst  in  fact  the}'  are  both  untruthful,  exactly  in  the 
degree  of  their  departure  from  perfect  accuracy. 

If  a  man  states  his  income  as  being  larger  than  it 
really  is,  if  he  adopts  a  degree  of  ostentation  which 
(though  he  may  be  able  to  pay  for  it)  conveys  the  idea 


234  UNRECOGNIZED   UNTRUTH. 

of  more  ample  means  than  he  really  possesses,  and  if 
we  find  out  afterwards  what  his  income  actually  is,  we 
condemn  him  as  an  untruthful  person ;  but  lying  b}T 
diminution  with  reference  to  money  matters  is  looked 
upon  simply  as  modesty. 

I  remember  a  most  respectable  English  family  who 
had  this  modesty  in  perfection.  It  was  their  great 
pleasure  to  represent  themselves  as  being  much  less 
rich  than  they  really  were.  Whenever  they  heard  of 
anybody  with  moderate  or  even  narrow  means,  they 
pretended  to  think  that  he  had  quite  an  ample  income. 
If  you  mentioned  a  man  with  a  family,  struggling  on 
a  pittance,  they  would  say  he  was  "  very  comfortably 
provided  for,"  and  if  you  spoke  of  another  whose  ex- 
penses were  the  ordinary  expenses  of  gentlemen,  they 
wondered  b}T  what  inventions  of  extravagance  he  could 
get  through  so  much  money.  They  themselves  pre- 
tended to  spend  much  less  than  they  really  spent,  and 
they  always  affected  astonishment  when  they  heard 
how  much  it  cost  other  people  to  live  exactly  in  their 
own  way.  They  considered  that  this  was  modesty  ;  but 
was  it  not  just  as  untruthful  as  the  commoner  vice  of 
assuming  a  style  more  showy  than  the  means  warrant  ? 

In  France  and  Italy  the  departure  from  the  truth  is 
almost  invariably  in  the  direction  of  overstatement,  un- 
less the  speaker  has  some  distinct  purpose  to  serve  by 
adopting  the  opposite  method,  as  when  he  desires  to 
depreciate  the  importance  of  an  enemy.  In  England 
people  habitually  understate,  and  the  remarkable  thing 
is  that  they  believe  themselves  to  be  strictly  truthful  in 
doing  so.  The  word  "lying"  is  too  harsh  a  term  to 


UNRECOGNIZED   UNTRUTH.  235 

be  applied  either  to  the  English  or  the  Continental 
habit  in  this  matter;  but  it  is  quite  fair  to  say  that 
both  of  them  miss  the  truth,  one  in  falling  short  of  it, 
the  other  in  going  beyond  it. 

An  English  family  has  seen  the  Alps  for  the  first 
time.  A  young  lad}'  sa}rs  Switzerland  is  "  nice  ;  "  a 
young  gentleman  has  decided  that  it  is  "  jolly."  This 
is  what  the  habit  of  understatement  may  bring  us  down 
to,  —  absolute  inadequacy.  The  Alps  are  not  unice," 
and  they  are  not  "jolly;"  far  more  powerful  adjec- 
tives are  only  the  precise  truth  in  this  instance.  The 
Alps  are  stupendous,  overwhelming,  magnificent,  sub- 
lime. A  Frenchman  in  similar  circumstances  will  be 
embarrassed,  not  by  any  timidity  about  using  a  suffi- 
ciently forcible  expression,  but  because  he  is  eager  to 
exaggerate  ;  and  one  scarcely  knows  how  to  exaggerate 
the  tremendous  grandeur  of  the  finest  Alpine  scenery. 
He  will  have  recourse  to  eloquent  phraseology,  to  loud- 
ness  of  voice,  and  finally,  when  he  feels  that  these  are 
still  inadequate,  he  will  employ  energetic  gesture.  I 
met  a  Frenchman  who  tried  to  make  me  comprehend 
how  many  English  people  there  were  at  Cannes  in 
winter.  "  II  y  en  a  —  des  Anglais  —  il  y  en  a,"  —  then 
he  hesitated,  whilst  seeking  for  an  adequate  expression. 
At  last,  throwing  out  both  his  arms,  he  cried,  "  11  y  en 
a  plus  qu'en  Angleterre  I " 

The  English  love  of  understatement  is  even  more 
visible  in  moral  than  in  material  things.  If  an  Eng- 
lishman has  to  describe  any  person  or  action  that  is 
particularl}T  admirable  on  moral  grounds,  he  will  gen- 
erally renounce  the  attempt  to  be  tine,  and  substitute 


236  UNRECOGNIZED    UNTRUTH. 

for  the  high  and  inspiring  truth  some  quiet  little  con- 
ventional expression  that  will  deliver  him  from  what 
he  most  dreads,  —  the  appearance  of  any  noble  enthu- 
siasm. It  does  not  occur  to  him  that  this  inadequacy, 
this  insufficiency  of  expression,  is  one  of  the  forms  of 
untruth ;  that  to  describe  noble  and  admirable  conduct 
in  commonplace  and  non-appreciative  language  is  to 
pay  tribute  of  a  kind  especially  acceptable  to  the  Fa- 
ther of  Lies.  If  we  suppose  the  existence  of  a  modern 
Mephistopheles  watching  the  people  of  our  own  time  and 
pleased  with  every  kind  of  moral  evil,  we  may  readily 
imagine  how  gratified  he  must  be  to  observe  the  moral 
indifference  which  uses  exactly  the  same  terms  for  ordi- 
nary and  heroic  virtue,  which  never  rises  with  the  occa- 
sion, and  which  always  seems  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  there  are  neither  noble  natures  nor  high  purposes 
in  the  world.  The  dead  mediocrity  of  common  talk, 
too  timid  and  too  indolent  for  any  expression  equiva- 
lent either  to  the  glory  of  external  nature  or  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  grandeur  of  great  and  excellent  men, 
has  driven  many  of  our  best  minds  from  conversation 
into  literature,  because  in  literature  it  is  not  thought 
extraordinary  for  a  man  to  express  himself  with  a  de- 
gree of  force  and  clearness  equivalent  to  the  energy  of 
his  feelings,  the  accuracy  of  his  knowledge,  and  the 
importance  of  his  subject.  The  habit  of  using  inade- 
quate expression  in  conversation  has  led  to  the  strange 
result  that  if  an  Englishman  has  any  power  of  thought, 
any  living  interest  in  the  great  problems  of  human  des- 
tiny, }TOU  will  know  hardly  anj'thing  of  the  real  action 
of  his  mind  unless  he  becomes  an  author.  He  dares 


UNRECOGNIZED   UNTRUTH.  237 

not  express  an}-  high  feelings  in  conversation,  because 
he  dreads  what  Stuart  Mill  called  the  u  sneering  de- 
preciation "  of  them ;  and  if  such  feelings  are  strong 
enough  in  him  to  make  expression  an  imperative  want, 
he  has  to  utter  them  on  paper.  By  a  strange  result 
of  conventionalism,  a  man  is  admired  for  using  lan- 
guage of  the  utmost  clearness  and  force  in  literature, 
whilst  if  he  talked  as  vigorously  as  he  wrote  (except, 
perhaps,  in  extreme  privacy  and  even  secrecy  with  one 
or  two  confidential  companions)  he  would  be  looked 
upon  as  scarcely  civilized.  This  may  be  one  of  the 
reasons  why  English  literature,  including  the  peri- 
odical, is  so  abundant  in  quantity  and  so  full  of  energj^. 
It  is  a  mental  outlet,  a  derivatif. 

The  kind  of  untruthful  ness  which  may  be  called  un~ 
truthfulness  by  inadequacy  causes  many  strong  and 
earnest  minds  to  keep  aloof  from  general  society,  which 
seems  to  them  insipid.  They  find  frank  and  clear  ex- 
pression in  books,  they  find  it  even  in  newspapers  and 
reviews,  but  the}7  do  not  find  it  in  social  intercourse. 
This  deficiency  drives  many  of  the  more  intelligent  of 
our  countrymen  into  the  strange  and  perfectty  unnatural 
position  of  receiving  ideas  almost  exclusively  through 
the  medium  of  print,  and  of  communicating  them  only 
by  writing.  I  remember  an  Englishman  of  great  learn- 
ing and  ability  who  lived  almost  entirely  in  that  manner. 
He  received  his  ideas  through  books  and  the  learned 
journals,  and  whenever  any  thought  occurred  to  him 
he  wrote  it  immediately  on  a  slip  of  paper.  In  society 
he  was  extremely  absent,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in 
an  apologetic  and  timidly  suggestive  manner,  as  if  he 


238  UNRECOGNIZED   UNTRUTH. 

were  always  afraid  that  what  he  had  to  say  might  not 
be  interesting  to  the  hearer,  or  might  even  appear  ob- 
jectionable, and  as  if  he  were  quite  ready  to  withdraw 
it.  He  was  far  too  anxious  to  be  well-behaved  ever  to 
venture  on  any  forcible  expression  of  opinion  or  to 
utter  any  noble  sentiment ;  and  yet  his  convictions  on 
all  important  subjects  were  very  serious,  and  had  been 
arrived  at  after  deep  thought,  and  he  was  capable  of 
real  elevation  of  mind.  His  writings  are  the  strongest 
possible  contrast  to  his  oral  expression  of  himself. 
They  are  bold  in  opinion,  very  clear  and  decided  in 
statement,  and  full  of  well-ascertained  knowledge. 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  239 


ESSAY    XVII. 

ON  A  REMARKABLE  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

IN  De  Tocqueville's  admirable  book  on  "Democracy 
in  America"  there  is  an  interesting  chapter  on  the 
behavior  of  Englishmen  to  each  other  when  they  meet 
in  a  foreign  country  :  — 

"  Two  Englishmen  meet  by  chance  at  the  antipodes;  they 
are  surrounded  by  foreigners  whose  language  and  mode  of 
life  are  hardly  known  to  them. 

"  These  two  men  begin  by  studying  each  other  very  curi- 
ously and  with  a  kind  of  secret  uneasiness ;  they  then  turn 
away,  or,  if  they  meet,  they  are  careful  to  speak  only  with  a 
constrained  and  absent  air,  and  to  say  things  of  little  impor- 
tance. 

41  And  yet  they  know  nothing  of  each  other;  they  have 
never  met,  and  suppose  each  other  to  be  perfectly  honorable. 
Why,  then,  do  they  take  such  pains  to  avoid  intercourse?  " 

De  Tocqueville  was  a  very  close  observer,  and  I 
hardly  know  a  single  instance  in  which  his  faculty  of 
observation  shows  itself  in  greater  perfection.  In  his 
terse  st}Tle  of  writing  every  word  tells  ;  and  even  in  my 
translation,  unavoidably  inferior  to  the  original,  you 
actually  see  the  two  Englishmen  and  the  minute  details 
of  their  behavior. 

Let  me  now  introduce  the  reader  to  a  little  scene  at 
a  foreign  table  d'hote,  as  described  with  great  skill  and 


240  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

truth  by  a  well-known  English  novelist,  Miss  Betham- 
Edwards :  — 

"The  time,  September;  the  scene,  a  table  d'hote  dinner 
in  a  much -frequented  French  town.  For  the  most  part 
nothing  can  be  more  prosaic  than  these  daily  assemblies  of 
English  tourists  bound  for  Switzerland  and  the  South,  and  a 
light  sprinkling  of  foreigners,  the  two  elements  seldom  or 
never  blending;  a  visitant  from  another  planet  might,  indeed, 
suppose  that  between  English  and  French-speaking  people 
lay  such  a  gulf  as  divides  the  blond  New  Englander  from 
the  swarth  African,  so  icy  the  distance,  so  unbroken  the 
reserve.  Nor  is  there  anything  like  cordiality  between  the 
English  themselves.  Our  imaginary  visitant  from  Jupiter 
would  here  find  matter  for  wonder  also,  and  would  ask  him- 
self the  reason  of  this  freezing  reticence  among  the  English 
fellowship.  What  deadly  feud  of  blood,  caste,  or  religion 
could  thus  keep  them  apart?  Whilst  the  little  knot  of  Gal- 
lic travellers  at  the  farther  end  of  the  table  straightway  fall 
into  friendliest  talk,  the  long  rows  of  Britons  of  both  sexes 
and  all  ages  speak  only  in  subdued  voices  and  to  the  mem- 
bers of  their  own  family.'* 

Next,  let  me  give  an  account  of  a  personal  experi- 
ence in  a  Parisian  hotel.  It  was  a  little,  unpretending 
establishment  that  I  liked  for  its  quiet  and  for  the  hon- 
est cookery.  There  was  a  table  d'hote,  frequented  by 
a  few  French  people,  generally  from  the  provinces,  and 
once  there  came  some  English  visitors  who  had  found 
out  the  merits  of  the  little  place.  It  happened  that  I 
had  been  on  the  Continent  a  long  time  without  revisit- 
ing England,  so  when  my  fellow-countrymen  arrived  I 
had  foolish  feelings  of  pleasure  on  finding  myself 
amongst  them,  and  spoke  to  them  in  our  common 
English  tongue.  The  effect  of  this  bold  experiment 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  241 

was  extremely  curious,  and  to  me,  at  the  time,  almost 
inexplicable,  as  I  had  forgotten  that  chapter  by  De 
Tocqueville.  The  new-comers  were  two  or  three  young 
men  and  one  in  middle  life.  The  young  men  seemed 
to  be  reserved  more  from  timidity  than  pride.  They 
were  quite  startled  and  frightened  when  spoken  to,  and 
made  answer  with  grave  brevity,  as  if  apprehensive  of 
committing  themselves  to  some  compromising  state- 
ment. With  an  audacity  acquired  by  habits  of  inter- 
course with  foreigners,  I  spoke  to  the  older  Englishman. 
His  way  of  putting  me  down  would  have  been  a  charm- 
ing study  for  a  novelist.  His  manner  resembled  noth- 
ing so  much  as  that  of  a  dignified  English  minister,  — 
Mr.  Gladstone  for  example,  when  he  is  questioned  in 
the  House  by  some  young  and  presumptuous  member 
of  the  Opposition.  A  few  brief  words  were  vouchsafed 
to  me,  accompanied  by  an  expression  of  countenance 
which,  if  not  positively  stern,  was  intentionally  divested 
of  everything  like  interest  or  sympathy.  It  then  began 
to  dawn  upon  me  that  perhaps  this  Englishman  was 
conscious  of  some  august  social  superiority ;  that  he 
might  even  know  a  lord ;  and  I  thought,  "  If  he  does 
really  know  a  lord  we  are  very  likely  to  hear  his  lord- 
ship's name."  My  expectation  was  not  fulfilled  to  the 
letter,  but  it  was  quite  fulfilled  in  spirit ;  for  in  talking 
to  a  Frenchman  (for  me  to  hear)  our  Englishman 
shortly  boasted  that  he  knew  an  English  duchess, 
giving  her  name  and  place  of  abode.  "  One  day  when 

I  was  at House  I  said  to  the  Duchess  of ," 

and  he  repeated  what  he  had  said  to  Her  Grace ;  but 
it  would  have  no  interest  for  the  reader,  as  it  probably 
16 


242  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

had  none  for  the  great  lady  herself.  Shade  of  Thack- 
eray !  why  wast  thou  not  there  to  add  a  paragraph  to 
the  "Book  of  Snobs"? 

The  next  day  came  another  Englishman  of  about 
fifty,  who  distinguished  himself  in  another  way.  He 
did  not  know  a  duchess,  or,  if  he  did,  we  were  not 
informed  of  his  good  fortune ;  but  he  assumed  a  won- 
derful air  of  superiority  to  his  temporary  surroundings, 
that  filled  me,  I  must  say,  with  the  deepest  respect  and 
awe.  The  impression  he  desired  to  produce  was  that 
he  had  never  before  been  in  so  poor  a  little  place,  and 
that  our  society  was  far  beneath  what  he  was  accus- 
tomed to.  He  criticised  things  disdainfully,  and  when 
I  ventured  to  speak  to  him  he  condescended,  it  is  true, 
to  enter  into  conversation,  but  in  a  manner  that  seemed 
to  sa}T,  "  Who  and  what  are  you  that  you  dare  to  speak 
to  a  gentleman  like  me,  who  am,  as  you  must  perceive, 
a  person  of  wealth  and  consideration  ?  " 

This  account  of  our  English  visitors  is  certainly  not 
exaggerated  by  an}T  excessive  sensitiveness  on  my  part. 
Paris  is  not  the  Desert ;  and  one  who  has  known  it  for 
thirty  years  is  not  dependent  for  society  on  a  chance 
arrival  from  be}-ond  the  sea.  For  me  these  English- 
men were  but  actors  in  a  play,  and  perhaps  they  af- 
forded me  more  amusement  with  their  own  peculiar 
manners  than  if  they  had  been  pleasant  and  amiable. 
One  result,  however,  was  inevitable.  I  had  been  full 
of  kindly  feeling  towards  my  fellow-countoymen  when 
they  came,  but  this  soon  gave  place  to  indifference  ;  and 
their  departure  was  rather  a  relief.  When  they  had 
left  Paris,  there  arrived  a  rich  French  widow  from  the 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  243 

south  with  her  son  and  a  priest,  who  seemed  to  be  tutor 
and  chaplain.  The  three  lived  at  our  table  cfhote  ; 
and  we  found  them  most  agreeable,  always  ready  to 
take  their  share  in  conversation,  and,  although  far  too 
well-bred  to  commit  the  slightest  infraction  of  the  best 
French  social  usages,  either  through  ignorance  or  care- 
lessness, the}-  were  at  the  same  time  perfectly  open 
and  easy  in  their  manners.  They  set  up  no  pretensions, 
they  gave  themselves  no  airs,  and  when  they  returned 
to  their  own  southern  sunshine  we  felt  their  departure 
as  a  loss. 

The  foreign  idea  of  social  intercourse  under  such  con- 
ditions (that  is,  of  intercourse  between  strangers  who 
are  thrown  together  accidentally)  is  simpty  that  it  is 
better  to  pass  an  hour  agreeably  than  in  dreary  isola- 
tion. People  may  not  have  much  to  say  that  is  of  any 
profound  interest,  but  they  enjoy  the  free  play  of  the 
mind  ;  and  it  sometimes  happens,  in  touching  on  all  sorts 
of  subjects,  that  unexpected  lights  are  thrown  upon 
them.  Some  of  the  most  interesting  conversations  I 
have  ever  heard  have  taken  place  at  foreign  tables 
d'hote,  between  people  who  had  probably  never  met  be- 
fore and  who  would  separate  forever  in  a  week.  If  by 
accident  they  meet  again,  such  acquaintances  recognize 
each  other  by  a  bow,  but  there  is  none  of  that  intru- 
siveness  which  the  Englishman  so  greatly  dreads. 

Besides  these  transient  acquaintanceships  which, 
however  brief,  are  by  no  means  without  their  value  to 
one's  experience  and  culture,  the  foreign  way  of  under- 
standing a  table  cfhote  includes  the  daily  and  habit- 
ual meeting  of  regular  subscribers,  a  meeting  looked 


244  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

forward  to  with  pleasure  as  a  break  in  the  labors  of 
the  day,  or  a  mental  refreshment  when  they  are  over. 
Nothing  affords  such  relief  from  the  pressure  of  work 
as  a  free  and  animated  conversation  on  other  subjects. 
Of  this  more  permanent  kind  of  table  d'hote,  Mr.  Lewes 
gave  a  lively  description  in  his  biography  of  Goethe  :  — 

'*  The  English  student,  clerk,  or  bachelor,  who  dines  at 
an  eating-house,  chop-house,  or  hotel,  goes  there  simply  to 
get  his  dinner,  and  perhaps  look  at  the  *  Times.'  Of  the 
other  diners  he  knows  nothing,  cares  little.  It  is  rare  that 
a  word  is  interchanged  between  him  and  his  neighbor. 
Quite  otherwise  in  Germany.  There  the  same  society  is 
generally  to  be  found  at  the  same  table.  The  table  d'hote 
is  composed  of  a  circle  of  habitues,  varied  by  occasional  visi- 
tors who  in  time  become,  perhaps,  members  of  the  circle. 
Even  with  strangers  conversation  is  freely  interchanged ;  and 
in  a  little  while  friendships  are  formed  over  these  dinner- 
tables,  according  as  natural  tastes  and  likings  assimilate, 
which,  extending  beyond  the  mere  hour  of  dinner,  are  car- 
ried into  the  current  of  life.  Germans  do  not  rise  so  hastily 
from  the  table  as  we,  for  time  with  them  is  not  so  precious  ; 
life  is  not  so  crowded  ;  time  can  be  found  for  quiet  after- 
dinner  talk.  The  cigars  and  coffee,  which  appear  before 
the  cloth  is  removed,  keep  the  company  together ;  and  in 
that  state  of  suffused  comfort  which  quiet  digestion  creates, 
they  hear  without  anger  the  opinions  of  antagonists." 

In  this  account  of  German  habits  we  see  the  repast 
made  use  of  as  an  opportunity  for  human  intercourse, 
which  the  Englishman  avoids  except  with  persons  al- 
ready known  to  him  or  known  to  a  private  host.  The 
reader  has  noticed  the  line  I  have  italicized,  —  "  Even 
with  strangers  conversation  is  freely  interchanged." 
The  consequence  is  that  the  stranger  does  not  feel 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  245 

himself  to  be  isolated,  and  if  he  is  not  an  Englishman 
he  does  not  take  offence  at  being  treated  like  an  intelli- 
gent human  being,  but  readily  accepts  the  welcome  that 
is  offered  to  him. 

The  English  peculiarity  in  this  respect  does  not, 
however,  consist  so  much  in  avoiding  intercourse  with 
foreigners  as  in  shunning  other  English  people.  It  is 
true  that  in  the  description  of  a  table  d'hote  by  Miss 
Betham-Edwards,  the  English  and  foreign  elements  are 
represented  as  separated  by  an  icy  distance,  and  the 
description  is  strikingly  accurate  ;  but  this  shyness  and 
timidity  as  regards  foreigners  may  be  sufficiently  ac- 
counted for  by  want  of  skill  and  ease  in  speaking  their 
language.  Most  English  people  of  education  know  a 
little  French  and  German,  but  few  speak  those  lan- 
guages freely,  fluently,  and  correctly.  When  it  does 
happen  that  an  Englishman  has  mastered  a  foreign 
tongue,  he  will  generalty  talk  more  readily  and  unre- 
servedty  with  a  foreigner  than  with  one  of  his  own 
countrymen.  This  is  the  notable  thing,  that  if  English 
people  do  not  really  dislike  and  distrust  one  another, 
if  there  is  not  really  "  a  deadly  feud  of  blood,  caste,  or 
religion  "  to  separate  them,  they  expose  themselves  to 
the  accusation  of  John  Stuart  Mill,  that  "  everybody 
acts  as  if  everybody  else  was  either  an  enemy  or  a 
bore." 

This  English  avoidance  of  English  people  is  so  re- 
markable and  exceptional  a  characteristic  that  it  could 
not  but  greatly  interest  and  exercise  so  observant  a 
mind  as  that  of  De  Tocqueville.  We  have  seen  how 
accurately  he  noticed  it ;  how  exactly  the  conduct  of 


246  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

shy  Englishmen  had  fixed  itself  in  his  memory.  Let 
us  now  see  how  he  accounted  for  it. 

Is  it  a  mark  of  aristocrac}' ?  Is  it  because  our  race 
is  more  aristocratic  than  other  races  ? 

De  Tocqueville's  theory  was,  that  it  is  not  the  mark 
of  an  aristocratic  society,  because,  in  a  society  classed 
by  birth,  although  people  of  different  castes  hold  little 
communication  with  each  other,  they  talk  easily  when 
they  meet,  without  either  fearing  or  desiring  social 
fusion.  "  Their  intercourse  is  not  founded  on  equality, 
but  it  is  free  from  constraint." 

This  view  of  the  subject  is  confirmed  by  all  that  I 
know,  through  personal  tradition,  of  the  really  aristo- 
cratic time  in  France  that  preceded  the  Revolution. 
The  old-fashioned  facility  and  directness  of  communi- 
cation between  ranks  that  were  separated  by  wide  social 
distances  would  surprise  and  almost  scandalize  a  modern 
aspirant  to  false  aristocracy,  who  has  assumed  the  d&, 
and  makes  up  in  morgue  what  is  wanting  to  him  in 
antiquity  of  descent.  I  believe,  too,  that  when  Eng- 
land was  a  far  more  aristocratic  country  than  it  is  at 
present,  manners  were  less  distant  and  not  so  cold  and 
suspicious. 

If  the  blame  is  not  to  be  laid  on  the  spirit  of  aristoc- 
racy, what  is  the  real  cause  of  the  indisputable  fact  that 
an  Englishman  avoids  an  Englishman  ?  De  Tocqueville 
believed  that  the  cause  was  to  be  found  in  the  uncer- 
tainty of  a  transition  state  from  aristocratic  to  pluto- 
cratic ideas ;  that  there  is  still  the  notion  of  a  strict 
classification  ;  and  yet  that  this  classification  is  no  longer 
determined  by  blood,  but  by  money,  which  has  taken  its 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  247 

place,  so  that  although  the  ranks  exist  still,  as  if  the 
country  were  realty  aristocratic,  it  is  not  eas}r  to  see 
clearly,  and  at  the  first  glance,  who  occupies  them. 
Hence  there  is  a  guerre  sourde  between  all  the  citi- 
zens. Some  try  by  a  thousand  artifices  to  edge  their 
way  in  reality  or  apparently  amongst  those  above  them  ; 
others  fight  without  ceasing  to  repel  the  usurpers  of 
their  rights ;  or  rather,  the  same  person  does  both  ;  and 
whilst  he  struggles  to  introduce  himself  into  the  upper 
region  he  perpetually  endeavors  to  put  down  aspirants 
who  are  still  beneath  him. 

44  The  pride  of  aristocracy,"  said  De  Tocqueville, 
"  being  still  very  great  with  the  English,  and  the  limits 
of  aristocracy  having  become  doubtful,  every  one  fears 
that  he  may  be  surprised  at  any  moment  into  undesir- 
able familiarity.  Not  being  able  to  judge  at  first  sight 
of  the  social  position  of  those  they  meet,  the  English 
prudently  avoid  contact.  They  fear,  in  rendering  little 
services,  to  form  in  spite  of  themselves  an  ill-assorted 
friendship  ;  they  dread  receiving  attention  from  others  ; 
and  they  withdraw  themselves  from  the  indiscreet  grati- 
tude of  an  unknown  fellow-countryman  as  carefully  as 
they  would  avoid  his  hatred." 

This,  no  doubt,  is  the  true  explanation,  but  something 
may  be  added  to  it.  An  Englishman  dreads  acquaint- 
ances from  the  apprehension  that  they  may  end  by 
coming  to  his  house ;  a  Frenchman  is  perfectly  at  his 
ease  on  that  point  by  reason  of  the  greater  discretion 
of  French  habits.  It  is  perfectly  understood,  in  France, 
that  you  may  meet  a  man  at  a  cafe  for  years,  and  talk 
to  him  with  the  utmost  freedom,  and  yet  he  will  not 


248  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

come  near  your  private  residence  unless  you  ask  him ; 
and  when  he  meets  you  in  the  street  he  will  not  stop 
you,  but  will  simply  lift  his  hat,  —  a  customary  salutation 
from  all  who  know  your  name,  which  does  not  compro- 
mise you  in  any  way.  It  might  perhaps  be  an  exag- 
geration to  say  that  in  France  there  is  absolutely  no 
struggling  after  a  higher  social  position  by  means  of 
acquaintances,  but  there  is  certainly  very  little  of  it. 
The  great  majority  of  French  people  live  in  the  most 
serene  indifference  as  regards  those  who  are  a  little 
above  them  socially.  They  hardly  even  know  their 
titles ;  and  when  they  do  know  them  the}r  do  not  care 
about  them  in  the  least.1 

It  may  not  be  surprising  that  the  conduct  of  Ameri- 
cans should  differ  from  that  of  Englishmen,  as  Americans 
have  no  titles  ;  but  if  they  have  not  titles  they  have  vast 
inequalities  of  wealth,  and  Englishmen  can  be  repellent 
without  titles.  Yet,  in  spite  of  pecuniary  differences 
between  Americans,  and  notwithstanding  the  English 
blood  in  their  veins,  the}7  do  not  avoid  one  another. 

1  The  difference  of  interest  as  regards  people  of  rank  may  be 
seen  by  a  comparison  of  French  and  English  newspapers.  In  an 
English  paper,  even  on  the  Liberal  side,  you  constantly  meet  with 
little  paragraphs  informing  you  that  one  titled  person  has  gone  to 
stay  with  another  titled  person;  that  some  old  titled  lady  is  in 
poor  health,  or  some  young  one  going  to  be  married ;  or  that  some 
gentleman  of  title  has  gone  out  in  his  yacht,  or  entertained  friends 
to  shoot  grouse,  — the  reason  being  that  English  people  like  to  hear 
about  persons  of  title,  however  insignificant  the  news  may  be  in 
itself.  If  paragraphs  of  the  same  kind  were  inserted  in  any 
serious  French  newspaper  the  subscribers  would  wonder  how  they 
got  there,  and  what  possible  interest  for  the  public  there  could  be 
in  the  movements  of  mediocrities,  who  had  nothing  but  tklea  to 
distinguish  them. 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  249 

"  If  they  meet  by  accident,"  says  De  Tocqueville, 
"  they  neither  seek  nor  avoid  one  another ;  their  way  of 
meeting  is  natural,  frank,  and  open  ;  it  is  evident  that 
they  hope  or  fear  scarcely  anything  from  each  other, 
and  that  they  neither  try  to  exhibit  nor  to  conceal  the 
station  they  occupy.  If  their  manner  is  often  cold  and 
serious,  it  is  never  either  haughty  or  stiff ;  and  when 
they  do  not  speak  it  is  because  they  are  not  in  the 
humor  for  conversation,  and  not  because  they  believe 
it  their  interest  to  be  silent.  In  a  foreign  country  two 
Americans  are  friends  at  once,  simply  because  they  are 
Americans.  They  are  separated  by  no  prejudice,  and 
their  common  country  draws  them  together.  In  the 
case  of  two  Englishmen  the  same  blood  is  not  enough ; 
there  must  be  also  identity  of  rank." 

The  English  habit  strikes  foreigners  by  contrast,  and 
it  strikes  Englishmen  in  the  same  way  when  they  have 
lived  much  in  foreign  countries.  Charles  Lever  had 
lived  abroad,  and  was  evidently  as  much  struck  by 
this  as  De  Tocqueville  himself.  Many  readers  will 
remember  his  brilliant  story,  "  That  Boy  of  Norcott's," 
and  how  the  young  hero,  after  finding  himself  delight- 
fully at  ease  with  a  society  of  noble  Hungarians,  at  the 
Schloss  Hunyadi,  is  suddenly  chilled  and  alarmed  by 
the  intelligence  that  an  English  lord  is  expected. 
"When  they  shall  see,"  he  says,  "how  my  titled 
countryman  will  treat  me, — the  distance  at  which  he 
will  hold  me,  and  the  measured  firmness  with  which 
he  will  repel,  not  my  familiarities,  for  I  should  not 
dare  them,  but  simply  the  ease  of  my  manner,  —  the 
foreigners  will  be  driven  to  regard  me  as  some  ignoble 


250  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

upstart  who  has  no  pretension  whatever  to  be  amongst 
them." 

Lever  also  noted  that  a  foreigner  would  have  had  a 
better  chance  of  civil  treatment  than  an  Englishman. 
*'  In  my  father's  house  I  had  often  had  occasion  to 
remark  that  while  Englishmen  freely  admitted  the  ad- 
vances of  a  foreigner  and  accepted  his  acquaintance 
with  a  courteous  readiness,  with  each  other  they  main- 
tained a  cold  and  studied  reserve,  as  though  no  differ- 
ence of  place  or  circumstance  was  to  obliterate  that 
insular  code  which  defines  class,  and  limits  each  man 
to  the  exact  rank  he  belongs  to." 

These  readings  and  experiences,  and  many  others  too 
long  to  quote  or  narrate,  have  led  me  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  attempt  any  other  manner 
with  English  people  than  that  which  the  very  peculiar 
and  exceptional  state  of  national  feeling  appears  to 
authorize.  The  reason  is  that  in  the  present  state  of 
feeling  the  innovator  is  almost  sure  to  be  misunder- 
stood. Pie  ma}T  be  perfectly  contented  with  his  own 
social  position ;  his  mind  may  be  utterly  devoid  of  an}- 
desire  to  raise  himself  in  societj7 ;  the  extent  of  his 
present  wishes  may  be  to  wile  away  the  tedium  of  a 
journey  or  a  repast  with  a  little  intelligent  conversation  ; 
yet  if  he  breaks  down  the  barrier  of  English  reserve 
he  is  likely  to  be  taken  for  a  pushing  and  intrusive  per- 
son who  is  eager-  to  lift  himself  in  the  world.  Every 
friendly  expression  on  his  part,  even  in  a  look  or  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  "simply  the  ease  of  his  manner," 
may  be  repelled  as  an  impertinence.  In  the  face  of 
such  a  probable  misinterpretation  one  feels  that  it  is 


AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY.  251 

hardly  possible  to  be  too  distant  or  too  cold.  When 
two  men  meet  it  is  the  colder  and  more  reserved  man 
who  always  has  the  advantage.  He  is  the  rock ;  the 
other  is  the  wave  that  comes  against  the  rock  and  falls 
shattered  at  its  foot. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  conclude  this  Essay  without  a 
word  of  reference  to  the  exceptional  Englishman  who 
can  pass  an  hour  intelligently  with  a  stranger,  and  is  not 
constantly  preoccupied  with  the  idea  that  the  stranger 
is  plotting  how  to  make  some  ulterior  use  of  him. 
Such  Englishmen  are  usually  men  of  ripe  experience, 
who  have  travelled  much  and  seen  much  of  the  world, 
so  that  they  have  lost  our  insular  distrust.  I  have  met 
with  a  few  of  them,  —  they  are  not  very  numerous, — 
and  I  wish  that  I  could  meet  the  same  fellow-country- 
men by  some  happ}T  accident  again.  There  is  nothing 
stranger  in  life  than  those  very  short  friendships  that 
are  formed  in  an  hour  between  two  people  born  to 
understand  each  other,  and  cut  short  forever  the  next 
day,  or  the  next  week,  by  an  inevitable  separation.1 

1  Since  this  Essay  was  written  I  have  come  upon  a  passage 
quoted  from  Henry  Knyghton  by  Augustin  Thierry  in  his  "  His- 
tory of  the  Norman  Conquest:"  — 

"It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  difference  of  nationality  (between 
the  Norman  and  Saxon  races)  produces  a  difference  of  conditions,  or 
that  there  should  result  from  it  an  excessive  distrust  of  natural  love; 
and  that  the  separateness  of  blood  should  produce  a  broken  confidence 
in  mutual  trust  and  affection." 

Now,  the  question  suggests  itself,  whether  the  reason  why 
Englishman  shuns  Englishman  to-day  may  not  be  traceable,  ulti- 
mately, to  the  state  of  feeling  described  by  Knyghton  as  a  result 
of  the  Norman  Conquest.  We  must  remember  that  the  avoid- 
ance of  English  by  English  is  quite  peculiar  to  us ;  no  other  race 


252  AN  ENGLISH  PECULIARITY. 

exhibits  the  same  peculiarity.  It  is  therefore  probably  due  to 
some  very  exceptional  fact  in  English  history.  The  Norman 
Conquest  was  exactly  the  exceptional  fact  we  are  in  search  of. 
The  results  of  it  may  be  traceable  as  follows:—^ 

1.  Norman  and  Saxon  shun  each  other. 

2.  Norman  has  become  aristocrat. 

3.  Would-be  aristocrat  (present  representative  of  Norman)  shung 
possible  plebeian  (present  representative  of  Saxon). 


OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE.  253 


ESSAY    XVIII. 

OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE. 

A  LL  virtue  has  its  negative  as  well  as  its  positive 
•*-*•  side,  and  every  ideal  includes  not  having  as  well 
as  having.  Gentility,  for  those  who  aspire  to  it  and 
value  it,  is  an  ideal  condition  of  humanity,  a  superior 
state  which  is  maintained  by  selection  amongst  the 
tilings  that  life  offers  to  a  man  who  has  the  power  to 
choose.  He  is  judged  by  his  selection.  The  genteel  per- 
son selects  in  his  own  way,  not  only  amongst  things  that 
can  be  seen  and  handled,  such  as  the  material  adjuncts  of 
a  high  state  of  civilization,  but  also  amongst  the  things 
of  the  mind,  including  all  the  varieties  of  knowledge. 

That  a  selection  of  this  kind  should  be  one  of  the 
marks  of  gentility  is  in  itself  no  more  than  a  natural 
consequence  of  the  idealizing  process  as  we  see  it  con- 
tinuall}7  exercised  in  the  fine  arts.  Every  work  of  fine 
art  is  a  result  of  selection.  The  artist  does  not  give  us 
the  natural  truth  as  it  is,  but  he  purposely  omits  very 
much  of  it,  and  alters  that  which  he  recognizes.  The 
genteel  person  is  himself  a  work  of  art,  and,  as  such, 
contains  only  partial  truth. 

This  is  the  central  fact  about  gentilit}',  that  it  is  a 
narrow  ideal,  impoverishing  the  mind  by  the  rejection 
of  truth  as  much  as  it  adorns  it  by  elegance  ;  and  it  is 
for  this  reason  that  gentility  is  disliked  and  refused  by 


254  OF  GENTEEL   IGNORANCE. 

all  powerful  and  inquiring  intellects.  They  look  upon 
it  as  a  mental  condition  with  which  they  have  nothing 
to  do,  and  they  pursue  their  labors  without  the  slightest 
deference  or  condescension  to  it.  They  may,  however, 
profitably  study  it  as  one  of  the  states  of  human  life, 
and  a  state  towards  which  a  certain  portion  of  humanity, 
aided  by  wealth,  appears  to  tend  inevitably. 

The  misfortune  of  the  genteel  mind  is  that  it  is 
carried  by  its  own  idealism  so  far  away  from  the  truth 
of  nature  that  it  becomes  divorced  from  fact  and  unable 
to  see  the  movement  of  the  actual  world  ;  so  that  gen- 
teel people,  with  their  narrow  and  erroneous  ideas,  are 
sure  to  find  themselves  thrust  aside  by  men  of  robust 
intelligence,  who  are  not  genteel,  but  who  have  a  stronger 
grip  upon  realit}^.  There  is,  consequently,  a  pathetic 
element  in  gentility,  with  its  fallacious  hopes,  its  certain 
disappointments,  so  easily  foreseen  by  all  whom  it  has 
not  blinded,  and  its  immense,  its  amazing,  its  ever 
invincible  ignorance. 

There  is  not  a  country  in  Europe  more  favorable 
than  France  for  the  stud}T  of  the  genteel  condition  of 
mind.  There  you  have  it  in  its  perfection  in  the  class 
qui  n'a  rien  appris  et  rien  oublie,  and  in  the  numer- 
ous aspirants  to  social  position  who  desire  to  mix  them- 
selves and  become  confounded  with  that  class.  It  has 
been  in  the  highest  degree  fashionable,  since  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Republic,  to  be  ignorant  of  the  real 
course  of  events.  In  spite  of  overwhelming  evidence 
to  the  contrary,  genteel  people  either  realty  believed 
or  universally  professed  to  believe  during  the  lifetime 
of  the  Count  dc  Chambord,  that  his  restoration  was 


OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE.  255 

not  only  probable  but  imminent.    No  belief  could  have 
been  more  destitute  of  foundation  in  fact ;  and  if  genteel 
people  bad  not  been   compelled   by  gentility  to  shut 
their  eyes  against  what  was  obvious  to  everybody  else, 
they  might  have  ascertained  the  truth  with  the  utmost 
facilit}7.     The  truth  was  simpty  this,  that  the  country 
was  going  awa}T  further  and  further  from  divine  right 
every  da}r,  and  from  eve^  sort  of  real  monarchy,  or 
one-man   government,    and   was   becoming   more   and 
more   attached   to   representative   institutions   and  an 
elective  system  everywhere ;  and  what  made  this  truth 
glaringly  evident  was  not  only  the  steadily  increasing 
number  of  republican  elections,  but  the  repeated  return 
to   power  of  the  very   ministers   whom   the   party  of 
divine  right  most  bitterly  execrated.     The  same  class 
of  genteel  French  people  affected  to  believe  that  the 
end  of  the  temporal  power  of  the  Papacy  by  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Italian  kingdom  was  but  a  temporary  crisis, 
probably  of  short  duration ;  though  the  process  which 
had  brought  the  Papacy  to  nothing  as  a  temporal  sover- 
eignty had  been  slow,  gradual,  and  natural,  —  the  pro- 
gressive enfeeblement  of  a  theocracy  unable  to  defend 
itself  against  its  own  subjects,  and  dependent  on  foreign 
soldiers  for  every  hour  of  its  artificial  survival.     Such 
is  genteel  ignorance  in  political  matters.     It  is  a  polite 
shutting  of  the  eyes  against  all  facts  and  tendencies 
that  are  disagreeable  to  people  of  fashion.     It  is  un- 
pleasant to  people  of  fashion  to  be  told  that  the  France 
of  the  future  is  more  likely  to  be  governed  by  men 
of  business  than  by  kings  and  cardinals  ;  it  is  disagree- 
able to  them  to  hear  that  the  Pope  is  not  to  do  what 


256  OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE. 

he  likes  with  the  Roman  people  ;  and  so,  to  please  them, 
we  are  to  pretend  that  we  do  not  understand  the  course 
of  recent  history,  which  is  obvious  to  everybody  who 
thinks.  The  course  of  events  has  always  proved  the 
blindness  of  the  genteel  world,  its  incapacity  to  under- 
stand the  present  and  forecast  the  future ;  yet  still  it 
goes  on  in  the  old  wa}',  shutting  its  eyes  resolutely 
against  surrounding  facts,  and  making  predictions  that 
are  sure  to  be  falsified  by  the  event.  Such  a  state  of 
mind  is  unintelligent  to  the  last  degree,  but  then  it  is 
genteel ;  and  there  is  always,  in  every  county,  a  large 
class  of  persons  who  would  rather  be  gentlemanly  than 
wise. 

In  religion,  genteel  ignorance  is  not  less  remarkable 
than  in  politics.  Here  the  mark  of  gentility  is  to  ignore 
the  unfashionable  churches,  and  generally  to  underesti- 
mate all  those  forces  of  opinion  that  are  not  on  the 
side  of  the  particular  form  of  orthodoxy  which  is  pro- 
fessed by  the  upper  class.  In  France  it  is  one  of  the 
marks  of  high  breeding  not  to  know  anything  about 
Protestantism.  The  fact  that  there  are  such  people 
as  Protestants  is  admitted,  and  it  is  believed  that  some 
of  them  are  decent  and  respectable  people  in  their  line 
of  life,  who  may  follow  an  erroneous  religion  with  an 
assiduity  praiseworthy  in  itself,  but  the  nature  of  their 
opinions  is  not  known,  and  it  is  thought  better  not  to 
inquire  into  them. 

In  England  the  gentry  know  hardly  anything  about 
Dissenters.  As  to  the  organization  of  dissenting  com- 
munities, nobody  ever  hears  of  any  of  them  having 
bishops,  and  so  it  is  supposed  that  the}T  must  have  some 


OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE.  257 

sort  of  democratic  system.  Genteel  knowledge  of  dis- 
senting faith  and  practice  is  confined  to  a  very  few 
points,  —  that  Unitarians  do  not  believe  in  the  Trinity, 
that  Baptists  have  some  unusual  practice  about  baptism, 
and  that  Methodists  are  fond  of  singing  hymns.  This 
is  all,  and  more  than  enough  ;  as  it  is  inconceivable  that 
an  aristocratic  person  can  have  anything  to  do  with 
Dissent,  unless  he  wants  the  Nonconformist  vote  in 
politics.  If  Dissenters  are  to  be  spoken  of  at  all,  it 
should  be  in  a  condescending  tone,  as  good  people  in 
their  way,  who  may  be  decent  members  of  the  middle 
and  lower  classes,  of  some  use  in  withstanding  the  tide 
of  infidelity. 

I  remember  a  lady  who  condemned  some  eminent 
man  as  an  atheist,  on  which  I  ventured  to  object  that 
he  was  a  deist  only.  "It  is  exactly  the  same  thing," 
she  replied.  Being  at  that  time  young  and  argumenta- 
tive, I  maintained  that  there  existed  a  distinction  :  that 
a  deist  believed  in  God,  and  an  atheist  had  not  that 
belief.  u  That  is  of  no  consequence,"  she  rejoined ; 
41  what  concerns  us  is  that  we  should  know  as  little 
as  possible  about  such  people."  When  this  dialogue 
took  place  the  lady  seemed  to  me  unreasonable  and 
unjust,  but  now  I  perceive  that  she  was  genteel.  She 
desired  to  keep  her  soul  pure  from  the  knowledge 
which  gentility  did  not  recognize  ;  she  wanted  to  know 
nothing  about  the  shades  and  colors  of  heresy. 

There  is  a  delightful  touch  of  determined  ignorance 
in  the  answer  of  the  Russian  prelates  to  Mr.  William 
Palmer,  who  went  to  Russia  in  1840  with  a  view  to 
bring  about  a  recognition  of  Anglicanism  by  Oriental 

17 


258  OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE. 

orthodoxy.  In  substance,  according  to  Cardinal  New- 
man, it  amounted  to  this:  "We  know  of  no  true 
Church  besides  our  own.  We  are  the  only  Church  in 
the  world.  The  Latins  are  heretics,  or  all  but  heretics  ; 
you  are  worse;  we  do  not  even  know  your  name." 
It  would  be  difficult  to  excel  this  last  touch ;  it  is  the 
perfection  of  uncontaminated  orthodoxy,  of  the  pure 
Russian  religious  comme  il  faut.  We,  the  holy,  the 
undefiled,  the  separate  from  heretics  and  from  those 
lost  ones,  worse  than  heretics,  into  whose  aberrations 
we  never  inquire,  "  we  do  not  even  know  your  name" 

Of  all  examples  of  genteel  ignorance,  there  are  none 
more  frequent  than  the  ignorance  of  those  necessities 
which  are  occasioned  by  a  limited  income.  I  am  not, 
at  present,  alluding  to  downright  poverty.  It  is  genteel 
to  be  aware  that  the  poor  exist ;  it  is  genteel,  even,  to 
have  poor  people  of  one's  own  to  pet  and  patronize ; 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  be  kind  to  such  poor  people  when 
they  receive  our  kindness  in  a  properly  submissive 
spirit,  with  a  due  sense  of  the  immense  distance  be- 
tween us,  and  read  the  tracts  we  give  them,  and  listen 
respectfully  to  our  advice.  It  is  genteel  to  have  to  do 
with  poor  people  in  this  way,  and  even  to  know  some- 
thing about  them ;  the  real  genteel  ignorance  consists 
in  not  recognizing  the  existence  of  those  impediments 
that  are  familiar  to  people  of  limited  means.  "  I  can- 
not understand,"  said  an  English  lady,  "  why  people 
complain  about  the  difficulties  of  housekeeping.  Such 
difficulties  may  almost  always  be  included  under  one 
head,  —  insufficiency  of  servants  ;  people  have  only  to 
take  more  servants,  and  the  difficulties  disappear."  Of 


OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE.  259 

course  the  cost  of  maintaining  a  tr  up  of  domestics  is 
too  trifling  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  A  French 
lad}r,  in  iny  hearing,  asked  what  fortune  had  such  a 
family.  The  answer  was  simple  and  decided,  they  had 
no  fortune  at  all.  "  No  fortune  at  all!  then  how  can 
the}r  possibly  live  ?  How  can  people  live  who  have  no 
fortune?"  This  lady's  genteel  ignorance  was  enlight- 
ened by  the  explanation  that  when  there  is  no  fortune 
in  a  family  it  is  generally  supported  by  the  labor  of  one 
or  more  of  its  members.  "  I  cannot  understand,"  said 
a  rich  Englishman  to  one  of  my  friends,  "  why  men  are 
so  imprudent  as  to  allow  themselves  to  sink  into  money 
embarrassments.  There  is  a  simple  rule  that  I  follow 
myself,  and  that  I  have  always  found  a  great  safe- 
guard, —  it  is,  never  to  let  one's  balance  at  the  banker's 
fall  below  five  thousand  pounds.  By  strictly  adhering 
to  this  rule  one  is  always  sure  to  be  able  to  meet  any 
unexpected  and  immediate  necessity."  Why,  indeed, 
do  we  not  all  follow  a  rule  so  evidently  wise?  It  may 
be  especially  recommended  to  struggling  professional 
men  with  large  families.  If  only  they  can  be  persuaded 
to  act  upon  it  they  will  find  it  an  unspeakable  relief 
from  anxiety,  and  the  present  volume  will  not  have 
been  penned  in  vain. 

Genteel  ignorance  of  pecuniary  difficulties  is  con- 
spicuous in  the  case  of  amusements.  It  is  supposed, 
if  you  are  inclined  to  amuse  yourself  in  a  certain  limited 
way,  that  you  are  stupid  for  not  doing  it  on  a  much 
more  expensive  scale.  Charles  Lever  wrote  a  charming 
paper  for  one  of  the  earl}*  numbers  of  the  "  Cornhill 
Magazine,"  in  which  he  gave  an  account  of  the  dangers 


260  OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE. 

and  difficulties  he  had  encountered  in  riding  and  boating, 
simply  because  he  had  set  limits  to  his  expenditure  on 
those  pastimes,  an  economy  that  seemed  unaccountably 
foolish  to  his  genteel  acquaintances.  u  Lever  will  ride 
such  screws !  Why  won't  he  give  a  proper  price  for 
a  horse  ?  It 's  the  stupidest  thing  in  the  world  to  be 
under-horsed ;  and  bad  economy  besides."  These  re- 
marks, Lever  said,  were  not  sarcasms  on  his  skill  or 
sneers  at  his  horsemanship,  but  they  were  far  worse, 
they  were  harsh  judgments  on  himself  expressed  in  a 
manner  that  made  reply  impossible.  So  with  his  boat- 
ing. Lever  had  a  passion  for  boating,  for  that  real 
boating  which  is  perfectly  distinct  from  yachting  and 
incomparably  less  costly ;  but  richer  acquaintances  in- 
sisted on  the  superior  advantages  of  the  more  expen- 
sive amusement.  "  These  cockle-shells,  sir,  must  go 
over ;  they  have  no  bearings,  they  lee  over,  and  there 
you  are,  —  you  fill  and  go  down.  Have  a  good  decked 
boat,  —  I  should  say  five-and-thirt}^  or  forty  tons  ;  get 
a  clever  skipper  and  a  lively  crew"  Is  not  this  exactly 
like  the  lady  who  thought  people  stupid  for  not  having 
an  adequate  establishment  of  servants? 

Another  form  of  genteel  ignorance  consists  in  being 
so  completely  blinded  by  conventionalism  as  not  to  be 
able  to  perceive  the  essential  identity  of  two  modes  of 
life  or  habits  of  action  when  one  of  them  happens  to  be 
in  what  is  called  "  good  form,"  whilst  the  other  is  not 
accepted  by  polite  society.  My  own  tastes  and  pur- 
suits have  often  led  me  to  do  things  for  the  sake  of 
study  or  pleasure  which  in  reality  differ  but  very 
slightly  from  what  genteel  people  often  do ;  yet,  at  the 


OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE.  261 

same  time,  this  slight  difference  is  sufficient  to  prevent 
them  from  seeing  any  resemblance  whatever  between 
my  practice  and  theirs.  When  a  young  man,  I  found 
a  wooden  hut  extremely  convenient  for  painting  from 
nature,  and  when  at  a  distance  from  other  lodging  I 
slept  in  it.  This  was  unfashionable  ;  and  genteel  peo- 
ple expressed  much  wonder  at  it,  being  especially  sur- 
prised that  I  could  be  so  imprudent  as  to  risk  health 
by  sleeping  in  a  little  wooden  house.  Conventionalism 
made  them  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  they 
occasionally  slept  in  little  wooden  houses  themselves. 
A  railwa}7  carriage  is  simply  a  wooden  hut  on  wheels, 
generally  ver}r  ill-ventilated,  and  presenting  the  alter- 
native of  foul  air  or  a  strong  draught,  with  vibration 
that  makes  sleep  difficult  to  some  and  to  others  abso- 
lutely impossible.  I  have  passed  many  nights  in  those 
public  wooden  huts  on  wheels,  but  have  never  slept  in 
them  so  pleasantly  as  in  my  own  private  one.1  Gen- 
teel people  also  use  wooden  dwellings  that  float  on 
water.  A  yacht's  cabin  is  nothing  but  a  hut  of  a 
peculiar  shape  with  its  own  special  inconveniences. 
On  land  a  hut  will  remain  stead}7 ;  at  sea  it  inclines  in 
every  direction,  and  is  tossed  about  like  Gulliver's  large 
box.  An  Italian  nobleman  who  liked  travel,  but  had 
no  taste  for  dirt}7  Southern  inns,  had  four  vans  that 
formed  a  square  at  night,  with  a  little  courtyard  in  the 
middle  that  was  covered  with  canvas  and  served  as  a 
spacious  dining-room.  The  arrangement  was  excellent, 

1  It  so  happens  that  I  am  writing  this  Essay  in  a  rough  wooden 
hut  of  my  own,  which  is  in  reality  a  most  comfortable  little  builu- 
ing,  though  "stuffy  luxury  "is  rigorously  excluded. 


262  OF  GENTEEL  IGNORANCE. 

but  he  was  considered  hopelessty  eccentric ;  }*et  how 
slight  was  the  difference  between  his  vans  and  a  train 
of  saloon  carriages  for  the  railway !  He  simply  had 
saloon  carriages  that  were  adapted  for  common  roads. 

It  is  difficult  to  see  what  advantage  there  can  be  in 
genteel  ignorance  to  compensate  for  its  evident  disad- 
vantages. Not  to  be  acquainted  with  unfashionable 
opinions,  not  to  be  able  to  imagine  unfashionable  ne- 
cessities, not  to  be  able  to  perceive  the  real  likeness 
between  fashionable  and  unfashionable  modes  of  life 
on  account  of  some  external  and  superficial  difference, 
is  like  living  in  a  house  with  closed  shutters.  Surely 
a  man,  or  a  woman  either,  might  have  as  good  man- 
ners, and  be  as  highly  civilized  in  all  respects,  with 
accurate  notions  of  things  as  with  a  head  full  of  illu- 
sions. To  understand  the  world  as  it  really  is,  to  see 
the  direction  in  which  humanity  is  travelling,  ought 
to  be  the  purpose  of  every  strong  and  healthy  intellect, 
even  though  such  knowledge  may  take  it  out  of  gen- 
tility altogether. 

The  effect  of  genteel  ignorance  on  human  intercourse 
is  such  a  deduction  from  the  interest  of  it  that  men  of 
ability  often  avoid  genteel  society  altogether,  and  either 
devote  themselves  to  solitary  labors,  cheered  princi- 
pally by  the  companionship  of  books,  or  else  keep  to 
intimate  friends  of  their  own  order.  In  Continental 
countries  the  public  drinking-places  are  often  fre- 
quented by  men  of  culture,  not  because  they  want  to 
drink,  but  because  they  can  talk  freely  about  what  they 
think  and  what  they  know  without  being  paralyzed  by 
the  determined  ignorance  of  the  genteel.  In  England, 


OF  GENTEEL   IGNORANCE.  268 

no  doubt,  there  is  more  information ;  and  yet  Stuart 
Mill  said  that  "general  societ}' as  now  carried  on  in 
England  is  so  insipid  an  affair,  even  to  the  persons  who 
make  it  what  it  is,  that  it  is  kept  up  for  any  reason 
rather  than  the  pleasure  it  affords.  All  serious  discus- 
sion on  matters  in  which  opinions  differ  being  consid- 
ered ill-bred,  and  the  national  deficienc}'  in  liveliness 
and  sociabilit}7  having  prevented  the  cultivation  of  the 
art  of  talking  agreeably  on  trifles,  the  sole  attraction 
of  what  is  called  society  to  those  who  are  not  at  the 
top  of  the  tree  is  the  hope  of  being  aided  to  climb  a 
little  higher.  To  a  person  of  any  but  a  very  common 
order  in  thought  or  feeling,  such  society,  unless  he  has 
personal  objects  to  serve  by  it,  must  be  supremely  un- 
attractive ;  and  most  people  in  the  present  day  of  any 
really  high  class  of  intellect  make  their  contact  with  it 
so  slight  and  at  such  long  intervals  as  to  be  almost 
considered  as  retiring  from  it  altogether."  The  loss 
here  is  distinctly  to  the  genteel  persons  themselves. 
They  may  not  feel  it,  they  may  be  completely  insensi- 
ble of  it,  but  by  making  society  insipid  they  eliminate 
from  it  the  very  men  who  might  have  been  its  most 
valuable  elements,  and  who,  whether  working  in  soli- 
tude or  living  with  a  few  congenial  spirits,  are  really 
the  salt  of  the  earth. 


264  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 


ESSAY    XIX. 

PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

l_3 ATRIOTIC  ignorance  is  maintained  by  the  satis- 
•^-  faction  that  we  feel  in  ignoring  what  is  favorable 
to  another  nation.  It  is  a  voluntary  closing  of  the 
mind  against  the  disagreeable  truth  that  another  nation 
may  be  on  certain  points  equal  to  our  own,  or  even, 
though  inferior,  in  some  degree  comparable  to  our  own. 
The  effect  of  patriotic  ignorance  as  concerning  human 
intercourse  is  to  place  any  one  who  knows  the  exact 
truth  in  the  unpleasant  dilemma  of  having  either  to 
correct  mistakes  which  are  strongly  preferred  to  truth, 
or  else  to  give  assent  to  them  against  his  sense  of  jus- 
tice. International  intercourse  is  made  almost  impos- 
sible by  patriotic  ignorance,  except  amongst  a  few 
highl}'  cultivated  persons  who  are  superior  to  it.  Noth- 
ing is  more  difficult  than  to  speak  about  one's  own 
country  with  foreigners  who  are  perpetually  putting 
forward  the  errors  which  they  have  imbibed  all  their 
lives,  and  to  which  they  cling  with  such  tenacity  that  it 
seems  as  if  those  errors  were,  in  some  mysterious  wajr, 
essential  to  their  mental  comfort  and  well-being.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  have  any  really  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  a  foreign  country,  gained  by  long  residence  in 
it  and  studious  observation  of  the  inhabitants,  then  we 
find  a  corresponding  difficulty  in  talking  reasonably 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  265 

about  it  and  them  with  our  own  countrymen,  because 
they,  too,  have  their  patriotic  ignorance  which  they 
prize  and  value  as  foreigners  value  theirs. 

At  the  risk  of  turning  this  Essay  into  a  string  of 
anecdotes,  I  intend  to  give  a  few  examples  of  patriotic 
ignorance,  in  order  to  show  to  what  an  astonishing 
degree  of  perfection  it  may  attain.  When  we  fully  un- 
derstand this  we  shall  also  understand  how  those  who 
possess  such  a  treasure  should  be  anxious  for  its  pres- 
ervation. Their  anxiety  is  the  more  reasonable  that 
in  these  days  there  is  a  difficulty  in  keeping  things  when 
they  are  easily  injured  by  light. 

A  French  lady  who  possessed  this  treasure  in  its 
perfection  gave,  in  my  hearing,  as  a  reason  why  French 
people  seldom  visited  England,  that  there  were  no  works 
of  art  there,  no  collections,  no  architecture,  nothing  to 
gratify  the  artistic  sense  or  the  intelligence  ;  and  that  it 
was  only  people  specially  interested  in  trade  and  manu- 
factures who  went  to  England,  as  the  country  had 
nothing  to  show  but  factories  and  industrial  products. 
On  hearing  this  statement,  there  suddenl}'  passed  be- 
fore my  mind's  eye  a  rapid  vision  of  the  great  works 
of  architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting  that  I  had  seen 
in  England,  and  a  confused  recollection  of  many  minor 
examples  of  these  arts  not  quite  unworthy  of  a  studious 
man's  attention.  It  is  impossible  to  contradict  a  lady  ; 
and  any  statement  of  the  simple  truth  would,  in  this 
instance,  have  been  a  direct  and  crushing  contradiction. 
I  ventured  on  a  faint  remonstrance,  but  without  effect ; 
and  my  fair  enemy  triumphed.  There  were  no  works  of 
art  in  England.  Thus  she  settled  the  question. 


266  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

This  little  incident  led  me  to  take  note  of  French 
ideas  about  England  with  reference  to  patriotic  igno- 
rance ;  and  I  discovered  that  there  existed  a  very  general 
belief  that  there  was  no  intellectual  light  of  any  kind 
in  England.  Paris  was  the  light  of  the  world,  and 
only  so  far  as  Parisian  rays  might  penetrate  the  mental 
fog  of  the  British  Islands  was  there  a  chance  of  its 
becoming  even  faintly  luminous.  It  was  settled  that 
the  speciality  of  England  was  trade  and  manufacture, 
that  we  were  all  of  us  either  merchants  or  cotton- 
spinners,  and  I  discovered  that  we  had  no  learned 
societies,  no  British  Museum,  no  Royal  Academy  of 
Arts. 

An  English  painter,  who  for  many  years  had  exhibited 
on  the  line  of  the  Royal  Academy,  happened  to  be  men- 
tioned in  my  presence  and  in  that  of  a  French  artist. 
I  was  asked  by  some  French  people  who  knew  him 
personally  whether  the  English  painter  had  a  good  pro- 
fessional standing.  I  answered  that  he  had  a  fair 
though  not  a  brilliant  reputation  ;  meanwhile  the  French 
artist  showed  signs  of  uneasiness,  and  at  length  ex- 
ploded with  a  vigorous  protest  against  the  inadmissible 
idea  that  a  painter  could  be  anything  whatever  who 
was  not  known  at  the  French  Salon.  "  II  n'est  pas 
connu  au  Salon  de  Paris,  done,  il  n'existe  pas  —  il 
n'existe  pas.  Les  reputations  dans  les  beaux-arts  se 
font  au  Salon  de  Paris  et  pas  ailleurs."  This  French- 
man had  no  conception  whatever  of  the  simple  fact 
that  artistic  reputations  are  made  in  every  capital  of 
the  civilized  world.  That  was  a  truth  which  his  patriot- 
ism could  not  tolerate  for  a  moment. 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  l267 

A  French  gentleman  expressed  his  surprise  that  1 
did  not  have  my  books  translated  into  French,  "be- 
cause," said  he,  "  no  literary  reputation  can  be  con- 
sidered established  until  it  has  received  the  consecration 
of  Parisian  approval."  To  his  unfeigned  astonishment 
I  answered  that  London  and  not  Paris  was  the  capital 
city  of  English  literature,  and  that  English  authors  had 
not  yet  fallen  so  low  as  to  care  for  the  opinion  of  critics 
ignorant  of  their  language. 

I  then  asked  mj'self  why  this  intense  French  patriotic 
ignorance  should  continue  so  persistently ;  and  the  an- 
swer appeared  to  be  that  there  was  something  pro- 
foundly agreeable  to  French  patriotic  sentiment  in  the 
belief  that  England  had  no  place  in  the  artistic  and 
intellectual  world.  Until  quite  recently  the  ver}^  exist- 
ence of  an  English  school  of  painting  was  denied  by 
all  patriotic  Frenchmen,  and  English  art  was  rigorously 
excluded  from  the  Louvre.1  Even  now  a  French  writer 
upon  art  can  scarcely  mention  English  painting  without 
treating  it  de  haut  en  bas,  as  if  his  Gallic  nationality 
gave  him  a  natural  right  to  treat  uncivilized  islanders 
with  lofty  disdain  or  condescending  patronage. 

My  next  example  has  no  reference  to  literature  or 
the  fine  arts.  A  young  French  gentleman  of  superior 
education  and  manners,  and  with  the  instincts  of  a 
sportsman,  said  in  my  hearing,  "  There  is  no  game  in 
England."  His  tone  was  that  of  a  man  who  utters 
i  truth  universally  acknowledged. 

1  At  present  it  is  most  inadequately  represented  by  a  few  un- 
important gifts.  The  donors  have  desired  to  break  the  rule  of 
exclusion,  and  have  succeeded  so  far,  but  that  is  all. 


268  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE, 

It  might  be  a  matter  of  little  consequence,  as  touching 
our  national  pride,  whether  there  was  game  in  England 
or  not.  I  have  no  doubt  that  some  philosophers  would 
consider,  and  perhaps  with  reason,  that  the  non-exist- 
ence of  game,  where  it  can  only  be  maintained  by  an 
army  of  keepers  and  a  penal  code  of  its  own,  would 
be  the  sign  of  an  advancing  social  state  ;  but  my  young 
Frenchman  was  not  much  of  a  philosopher,  and  no 
doubt  he  considered  the  non-existence  of  game  in  Eng- 
land a  mark  of  inferiority  to  France.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  masculine  mind,  inherited  perhaps  from 
ancestors  who  lived  by  the  chase,  which  makes  it  look 
upon  an  abundance  of  wild  things  that  can  be  shot  at, 
or  run  after  with  horses  and  dogs,  as  a  reason  for  the 
greatest  pride  and  glorification.  On  reflection,  it  will 
be  found  that  there  is  more  in  the  matter  than  at  first 
sight  appears.  As  there  is  no  game  in  England,  of 
course  there  are  no  sportsmen  in  that  country.  The 
absence  of  game  means  the  absence  of  shooters  and 
huntsmen,  and  consequently  an  inferiority  in  manly 
exercises  to  the  French,  thousands  of  whom  take  shoot- 
ing licenses  and  enjoy  the  invigorating  excitement  of 
the  chase.  For  this  reason  it  is  agreeable  to  French 
patriotic  sentiment  to  be  perfectly  certain  that  there 
is  no  game  in  England.  .  When  I  inquired  what  reason 
my  young  friend  had  for  holding  his  conviction  on  the 
subject,  he  told  me  that  in  a  country  like  England,  so 
full  of  trade  and  manufactures,  there  could  not  be  any 
room  for  game. 

One  of  the  most  popular  of  French  songs  is  that 
charming  one  by  Pierre  Dupont  in  praise  of  his  vine. 


PAT  HI  OTIC  IGNORANCE.  20: » 

Every  Frenchman  who  knows  anything  knows  that 
song,  and  believes  that  he  also  knows  the  tune.  The 
consequence  is  that  when  one  of  them  begins  to  sing  it 
his  companions  join  in  the  refrain  or  chorus,  which  is 
as  follows :  — 

"  Bons  Frai^ais,  quand  je  vois  mon  verre 
Plein  de  ce  vin  couleur  de  feu 
Je  songe  en  remerciant  Dieu 
Qu'ils  n'en  ont  pas  dans  1'Angleterre ! " 

The  singers  repeat  "  qu'ils  n'en  ont  pas,"  and  besides 
this  the  whole  of  the  last  line  is  repeated  with  trium- 
phant emphasis. 

We  need  not  feel  hurt  by  this  little  outburst  of 
patriotism.  There  is  no  real  hatred  of  England  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  only  a  little  "  malice  "  of  a  harmless 
kind,  and  the  song  is  sometimes  sung  good-humoredly 
in  the  presence  of  Englishmen.  It  is,  however,  really 
connected  with  patriotic  ignorance.  The  common 
French  belief  is  that  as  vines  are  not  grown  in  Eng- 
land, we  have  no  wine  in  our  cellars,  so  that  English 
people  hardly  know  the  taste  of  wine ;  and  this  belief 
is  too  pleasing  to  the  French  mind  to  be  readily  aban. 
doned  by  those  who  hold  it.  They  feel  that  it  enhances 
the  delightfulness  of  even-  glass  the}7  drink.  The  case 
is  precisely  the  same  with  fruit.  The  French  enjoy 
plent}'  of  excellent  fruit,  and  they  enjoy  it  all  the  more 
heartily  from  a  firm  conviction  that  there  is  no  fruit 
of  any  kind  in  England.  "Pas  un  fruit,"  said  a 
countryman  of  Pierre  Dupont  in  writing  about  our  un- 
favored island,  "  pas  un  fruit  ne  murit  dans  ce  pays." 
What,  not  even  a  gooseberry  ?  Were  the  plums,  pears, 


270  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

strawberries,  apples,  apricots,  that  we  consumed  in 
omnivorous  boyhood  every  one  of  them  unripe?  It  is 
lamentable  to  think  how  miserabty  the  English  live. 
They  have  no  game,  no  wine,  no  fruit  (it  appears  to 
be  doubtful,  too,  whether  they  have  any  vegetables), 
and  they  dwell  in  a  perpetual  fog  where  sunshine  is 
totally  unknown.  It  is  believed,  also,  that  there  is  no 
landscape-beauty  in  England,  —  nothing  but  a  green 
field  with  a  hedge,  and  then  another  green  field  with 
another  hedge,  till  you  come  to  the  bare  chalk  cliffs  and 
the  dreary  northern  sea.  The  English  have  no  Devon- 
shire, no  valley  of  the  Severn,  no  country  of  the  Lakes. 
The  Thames  is  a  foul  ditch,  without  a  trace  of  natural 
beauty  anywhere.1 

It  would  be  easy  to  give  many  more  examples  of  the 
patriotism  of  our  neighbors,  but  perhaps  for  the  sake 
of  variety  it  may  be  desirable  to  turn  the  glass  in  the 
opposite  direction  and  see  what  English  patriotism  has 
to  say  about  France.  We  shall  find  the  same  principle 
at  work,  the  same  determination  to  believe  that  the 
foreign  country  is  totally  destitute  of  many  things  on 
which  we  greatly  pride  ourselves.  I  do  not  know  that 
there  is  any  reason  to  be  proud  of  having  mountains, 
as  they  are  excessively  inconvenient  objects  that  greatly 
impede  agriculture  and  communication ;  however,  in 
some  parts  of  Great  Britain  it  is  considered,  somehow, 
a  glory  for  a  nation  to  have  mountains  ;  and  there  used 

1  These,  of  course,  are  only  examples  of  vulgar  patriotic  igno- 
rance. A  few  Frenchmen  who  have  really  Keen  what  is  best  in 
English  landscape  are  delighted  with  it ;  but  the  common  impres- 
sion about  England  is  that  it  is  an  ugly  country  covered  with 
uaines,  and  on  which  the  sun  never  shines. 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  271 

to  be  a  firm  belief  that  French  landscape  was  almost 
destitute  of  mountainous  grandeur.  There  were  the 
Highlands  of  Scotland,  but  who  had  ever  heard  of  the 
Highlands  of  France?  Was  not  France  a  wearisome, 
tame  country  that  unfortunately  had  to  be  traversed 
before  one  could  get  to  Switzerland  and  Italy  ?  Nobody 
seemed  to  have  any  conception  that  France  was  rich 
in  mountain  scenery  of  the  very  grandest  kind.  Switz- 
erland was  understood  to  be  the  place  for  mountains, 
and  there  was  a  settled  but  erroneous  conviction  that 
Mont  Blanc  was  situated  in  that  country.  As  for 
the  Grand-Pelvoux,  the  Pointe  des  Serins,  the  Mont 
Olan,  the  Pic  d'Arsine,  and  the  Trois  Ellions,  no- 
body had  ever  heard  of  them.  If  you  had  told  any 
average  Scotchman  that  the  most  famous  Bens  would 
be  lost  and  nameless  in  the  mountainous  departments 
of  France,  the  news  would  have  greatly  surprised  him. 
He  would  have  been  astonished  to  hear  that  the  area 
of  mountainous  France  exceeded  the  area  of  Scotland, 
and  that  the  height  of  its  loftiest  summits  attained  three 
times  the  elevation  of  Ben  Nevis. 

It  may  be  excusable  to  feel  proud  of  mountains,  as 
they  are  noble  objects  in  spite  of  their  inconvenience, 
but  it  seems  less  reasonable  to  be  patriotic  about  hedges, 
which  make  us  pay  dearly  for  any  beauty  they  may 
possess  by  hiding  the  perspective  of  the  land.  A  hedge 
six  feet  high  easily  masks  as  many  miles  of  distance. 
However,  there  is  a  pride  in  English  hedges,  accom- 
panied by  a  belief  that  there  are  no  such  things  in 
France.  The  truth  is  that  regions  of  large  extent  are 
divided  by  hedges  in  Franco  as  they  are  in  England 


272  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

Another  belief  is  that  there  is  little  or  no  wood  in 
France,  though  wood  is  the  principal  fuel,  and  vast 
forests  are  reserved  for  its  supply.  I  have  heard  an 
Englishman  proudly  congratulating  himself,  in  the  spirit 
of  Dupont's  song,  on  the  supposed  fact  that  the  French 
had  neither  coal  nor  iron  ;  and  yet  I  have  visited  a  vast 
establishment  at  the  Creuzot,  where  ten  thousand  work- 
men are  continually  emplo3~ed  in  making  engines, 
bridges,  armor-plates,  and  other  things  from  iron  found 
close  at  hand,  by  the  help  of  coal  fetched  from  a  very 
little  distance.  I  have  read  in  an  English  newspaper 
that  there  were  no  singing  birds  in  France  ;  and  by  way 
of  commentary  a  hundred  little  French  songsters  kept 
up  a  merry  din  that  would  have  gladdened  the  soul  of 
Chaucer.  It  happened,  too,  to  be  the  time  of  the  year 
for  nightingales,  which  filled  the  woods  with  their  music 
in  the  moonlight. 

Patriotic  ignorance  often  gets  hold  of  some  partial 
truth  unfavorable  to  another  country,  and  then  applies 
it  in  such  an  absolute  manner  that  it  is  truth  no  longer. 
It  is  quite  true,  for  example,  that  athletic  exercises  are 
not  so  much  cultivated  in  France,  nor  held  in  such  high 
esteem,  as  they  are  in  England,  but  it  is  not  true  that 
all  young  Frenchmen  are  inactive.  They  are  often 
both  good  swimmers  and  good  pedestrians,  and,  though 
they  do  not  play  cricket,  many  of  them  take  a  practical 
interest  in  gymnastics  and  are  skilful  on  the  bar  and 
the  trapeze.  The  French  learn  military  drill  in  their 
boyhood,  and  in  early  manhood  they  are  inured  to 
fatigue  in  the  arm}T,  besides  which  great  numbers  of 
them  learn  fencing  on  their  own  account,  that  the3r 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  273 

may  hold  their  own  in  a  duel.  Patriotic  ignorance  likes 
to  shut  its  eyes  to  all  inconvenient  facts  of  this  kind, 
and  to  dwell  on  what  is  unfavorable.  A  man  may 
like  a  glass  of  absinthe  in  a  cafe  and  still  be  as  ener- 
getic as  if  he  drank  port  wine  at  home.  I  know  an 
old  French  officer  who  never  misses  his  daily  visit  to 
the  cafe,  and  so  might  serve  as  a  text  for  moralizing, 
but  at  the  same  time  he  walks  twenty  kilometres  every 
day.  Patriotic  ignorance  has  its  opportunity  in  every 
difference  of  habit.  What  can  be  apparently  more 
indolent,  for  an  hour  or  two  after  dejeuner,  than  a 
prosperous  man  of  business  in  Paris?  Very  possibly 
he  may  be  caught  playing  cards  or  dominoes  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  and  severely  blamed  by  a  foreign 
censor.  The  difference  between  him  and  his  equal  in 
London  is  simply  in  the  arrangement  of  time.  The 
Frenchman  has  been  at  his  work  early,  and  divides  his 
day  into  two  parts,  with  hours  of  idleness  between  them. 
Man}'  examples  of  those  numerous  international  criti- 
cisms that  originate  in  patriotic  ignorance  are  connected 
with  the  employment  of  words  that  are  apparently  com- 
mon to  different  nations,  yet  vary  in  their  signification. 
One  that  has  given  rise  to  frequent  patriotic  criticisms 
is  the  French  word  unioers.  French  writers  often  say 
of  some  famous  author,  such  as  Victor  Hugo,  "Sa 
renommee  remplit  1'univers  ; "  or  of  some  great  warrior, 
like  Napoleon,  "  II  inquieta  Tunivers."  English  critics 
take  up  these  expressions  and  then  say,  "  Behold  how 
bombastic  these  French  writers  are,  with  their  absurd 
exaggerations,  as  if  Victor  Hugo  and  Napoleon  as- 
tonished the  universe,  as  if  the}'  were  ever  heard  of 

IS 


274  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

beyond  our  own  little  planet ! "  Such  criticism  only 
displays  patriotic  ignorance  of  a  foreign  language. 
The  French  expression  is  perfectly  correct,  and  not  in 
the  least  exaggerated.  Napoleon  did  not  disquiet  the 
universe,  but  he  disquieted  Vunivers.  Victor  Hugo  is 
not  known  beyond  the  terrestrial  globe,  but  he  is  known, 
b}T  name  at  least,  throughout  Vunivers.  The  persistent 
ignorance  of  English  writers  on  this  point  would  be 
inexplicable  if  it  were  not  patriotic  ;  if  it  did  not  afford 
an  opportunity  for  deriding  the  vanity  of  foreigners. 
It  is  the  more  remarkable  that  the  deriders  themselves 
constantly  use  the  word  in  the  same  restricted  sense 
as  an  adjective  or  an  adverb.  I  open  Mr.  Stanford's 
atlas,  and  find  that  it  is  called  "  The  London  Atlas  of 
Universal  Geography,"  though  it  does  not  contain  a 
single  map  of  any  planet  but  our  own,  not  even  one  of 
the  visible  hemisphere  of  the  moon,  which  might  easily 
have  been  given.  I  take  a  newspaper,  and  I  find  that 
the  late  President  of  the  Ro}'al  Societ}T  died  universally 
respected,  though  he  was  known  only  to  the  cultivated 
inhabitants  of  a  single  planet.  Such  is  the  power  of 
patriotic  ignorance  that  it  is  able  to  prevent  men  from 
understanding  a  foreign  word  when  they  themselves 
employ  a  nearly  related  word  in  identically  the  same 
sense.1 

1  The  French  word  univers  has  three  or  four  distinct  senses.  It 
may  mean  all  that  exists,  or  it  may  mean  the  solar  system,  or  it 
may  mean  the  earth's  surface,  in  whole  or  in  part.  Voltaire  said 
that  Columbus,  by  simply  looking  at  a  map  of  our  tmivert,  had 
guessed  that  there  must  be  another,  that  is,  the  western  hemi- 
sphere. "  Paris  est  la  plus  belle  ville  de  1'univers  "  means  simply 
that  Paris  is  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world. 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  275 

The  word  univers  reminds  me  of  universities,  and 
they  recall  a  striking  example  of  patriotic  ignorance  in 
my  own  countrymen.  I  wonder  how  many  Englishmen 
there  are  who  know  anything  about  the  University  of 
France.  I  never  expect  an  Englishman  to  know  any- 
thing about  it ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  am  always  prepared 
to  find  him  impervious  to  any  information  on  the  sub- 
ject. As  the  organization  of  the  University  of  France 
differs  essentially  from  that  of  English  universities,  each 
of  which  is  localized  in  one  place,  and  can  be  seen  in  its 
entirety  from  the  top  of  a  tower,  the  Englishman  hears 
with  contemptuous  inattention  an}'  attempt  to  make 
him  understand  an  institution  without  a  parallel  in  his 
own  country.  Besides  this,  the  Universities  of  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  are  venerable  and  wealth}*  institutions, 
visibly  beautiful,  whilst  the  University  of  France  is  of 
comparatively  recent  origin  ;  and,  though  large  sums 
are  expended  in  its  service,  the  result  does  not  strike 
the  eye  because  the  expenditure  is  distributed  over  the 
country.  I  remember  having  occasion  to  mention  the 
Academy  of  Lyons  to  a  learned  doctor  of  Oxford  who 
was  travelling  in  France,  and  I  found  that  he  had  never 
heard  of  the  Academy  of  Lyons,  and  knew  nothing 
about  the  organization  of  the  national  university  of 
which  that  academy  forms  a  part.  From  a  French 
point  of  view  this  is  quite  as  remarkable  an  example  of 
patriotic  ignorance  as  if  some  foreigner  had  never  heard 
of  the  diocese  of  York,  or  the  episcopal  organization 
of  the  Church  of  England.  Every  Frenchman  who  has 
any  education  at  all  knows  the  functions  of  academies 
in  the  university,  and  which  of  the  principal  cities  are 
the  seats  of  those  learned  bodies. 


276  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

As  Englishmen  ignore  the  University  of  France,  they 
naturall}7  at  the  same  time  ignore  the  degrees  that  it 
confers.  They  never  know  what  a  Licencie  is,  they 
have  no  conception  of  the  Agregation,  or  of  the  severe 
ordeal  of  competitive  examination  through  which  an 
Agrege  must  have  passed.  Therefore,  if  a  Frenchman 
has  attained  either  of  these  grades,  his  title  is  unintel- 
ligible to  an  Englishman. 

There  is,  no  doubt,  great  ignorance  in  France  on  the 
subject  of  the  English  universities,  but  it  is  neither  in 
the  same  degree  nor  of  the  same  kind.  I  should 
hardly  call  French  ignorance  of  the  classes  at  Oxford 
patriotic  ignorance,  because  it  does  not  proceed  from 
the  belief  that  a  foreign  universit}7  is  unworth}7  of  a 
Frenchman's  attention.  I  should  call  French  igno- 
rance of  the  Royal  Academy,  for  example,  genuine 
patriotic  ignorance,  because  it  proceeds  from  a  con- 
viction that  English  art  is  unworthy  of  notice,  and  that 
the  French  Salon  is  the  only  exhibition  that  can  inter- 
est an  enlightened  lover  of  art.  That  is  the  essence  of 
patriotism  in  ignorance,  —  to  be  ignorant  of  what  is 
done  in  another  nation,  because  we  believe  our  own  to 
be  first  and  the  rest  nowhere ;  and  so  the  English 
ignorance  of  the  University  of  France  is  genuine  pa- 
triotic ignorance.  It  is  caused  by  the  existence  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge,  as  the  French  ignorance  of  the 
Roj'al  Academy  is  caused  by  the  French  Salon. 

Patriotic  ignorance  is  one  of  the  most  serious  impedi- 
ments to  conversation  between  people  of  different  na- 
tionality, because  occasions  are  continual^  arising  when 
the  national  sentiments  of  the  one  are  hurt  by  the 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE.  277 

ignorance  of  the  other.  But  we  may  also  wound  the 
feelings  of  a  foreigner  by  assuming  a  more  complete 
degree  of  ignorance  on  his  part  than  that  which  is 
realty  his.  This  is  sometimes  done  by  English  people 
towards  Americans,  when  English  people  forget  that 
their  national  literature  is  the  common  possession  of 
the  two  countries.  A  story  is  told  by  Mr.  Grant 
White  of  an  English  lady  who  informed  him  that  a 
novel  (which  she  advised  him  to  read)  had  been 
written  about  Kenil worth,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott ;  and 
he  expected  her  to  recommend  a  perusal  of  the  works 
of  William  Shakespeare.  Having  lived  much  abroad, 
I  am  myself  occasionally  the  grateful  recipient  of  val- 
uable information  from  English  friends.  For  example, 
I  remember  an  Englishman  who  kindly  and  quite  seri- 
ously informed  me  that  Eton  College  was  a  public 
school  where  man}r  sons  of  the  English  aristocracy 
were  educated. 

There  is  a  very  serious  side  to  patriotic  ignorance 
in  relation  to  war.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  man}' 
of  the  most  foolish,  costly,  and  disastrous  wars  ever 
undertaken  were  either  directly  due  to  patriotic  igno- 
rance, or  made  possible  only  by. the  existence  of  such 
ignorance  in  the  nation  that  afterwards  suffered  by 
them.  The  way  in  which  patriotic  ignorance  directly 
tends  to  produce  war  is  readily  intelligible.  A  nation 
sees  its  own  soldiers,  its  own  cannons,  its  own  ships, 
and  becomes  so  proud  of  them  as  to  remain  contentedly 
and  even  wilfully  ignorant  of  the  military  strength  and 
efficiency  of  its  neighbors.  The  war  of  1870-71,  so 
disastrous  to  France,  was  the  direct  result  of  patriotic 


278  PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

ignorance.  The  county  and  even  the  Emperor  him- 
self were  patriotically  ignorant  of  their  own  inferior 
military  condition  and  of  the  superior  Prussian  organi- 
zation. One  or  two  isolated  voices  were  raised  in 
warning,  but  it  was  considered  patriotic  not  to  listen 
to  them.  The  war  between  Turkey  and  Russia,  which 
cost  Turkey  Bulgaria  and  all  but  expelled  her  from 
Europe,  might  easily  have  been  avoided  by  the  Sultan ; 
but  he  was  placed  in  a  false  position  by  the  patriotic 
ignorance  of  his  own  subjects,  who  believed  him  to  be 
far  more  powerful  than  he  really  was,  and  who  would 
have  probably  dethroned  or  murdered  him  if  he  had 
acted  rationally,  that  is  to  say,  in  accordance  with  the 
degree  of  strength  that  he  possessed.  In  almost  eve^ 
instance  that  I  am  able  to  remember,  the  nations  that 
have  undertaken  imprudent  and  easily  avoidable  wars 
have  done  so  because  they  were  blinded  b}T  patriotic 
ignorance,  and  therefore  either  impelled  their  rulers 
into  a  foolish  course  against  their  better  knowledge,  or 
else  were  themselves  easily  led  into  peril  by  the  temer- 
ity of  a  rash  master,  who  would  risk  the  well-being  of 
all  his  subjects  that  he  might  attain  some  personal  and 
private  end.  The  French  have  been  cured  of  their 
most  dangerous  patriotic  ignorance,  —  that  concerning 
the  military  strength  of  the  country,  —  by  the  war  of 
1870,  but  the  cure  was  of  a  costty  nature. 

Patriotism  has  been  so  commonl}*  associated  with  a 
wilful  closing  of  the  eyes  against  unpleasant  facts,  that 
those  who  prefer  truth  to  illusion  are  often  considered 
unpatriotic.  Yet  surely  ignorance  has  not  the  immense 
advantage  over  knowledge  of  having  all  patriotism  on 


PATRIOTIC  IGNORANCE. 

her  side.  There  is  a  far  higher  and  better  patriotism 
than  that  of  ignorance ;  there  is  a  love  of  country  that 
shows  itself  in  anxiety  for  its  best  welfare,  and  does 
not  remain  satisfied  with  the  vain  delusion  of  a  fancied 
superiority  in  everything.  It  is  the  interest  of  England 
as  a  nation  to  be  accurately  informed  about  all  that 
concerns  her  position  in  the  world,  and  it  is  impossible 
for  her  to  receive  this  information  if  a  stupid  national 
vanity  is  always  ready  to  take  offence  when  it  is 
offered.  It  is  desirable  for  England  to  know  exactly 
in  what  degree  she  is  a  military  power,  and  also  how 
she  stands  with  reference  to  the  naval  armaments  of 
other  nations,  not  as  they  existed  in  the  days  of  Nelson, 
but  as  they  will  exist  next  year.  It  is  the  interest  of 
England  to  know  by  what  tenure  she  holds  India,  just 
as  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Third  it  would  have  been 
very  much  the  interest  of  England  to  know  accurately 
both  the  rights  of  the  American  colonists  and  their 
strength.  I  cannot  imagine  any  circumstances  that 
might  make  ignorance  more  desirable  for  a  free  peo- 
ple than  knowledge.  With  enslaved  peoples  the  case 
is  different :  the  less  they  know  and  the  greater,  per- 
haps, are  their  chances  of  enjoying  the  dull  kind  of 
somnolent  happiness  which  alone  is  attainable  by  them ; 
but  this  is  a  kind  of  happiness  that  no  citizen  of  a  free 
country  would  desire. 


280  CONFUSIONS. 


ESSAY  XX. 

CONFUSIONS. 

OURELY  the  analytical  faculty  must  be  very  rare,  or 
^-^  we  should  not  so  commonly  find  people  confound- 
ing together  things  essentially  distinct.  Any  one  who 
possesses  that  faculty  natural!}7,  and  has  followed  some 
occupation  which  strengthens  it,  must  be  continually 
amused  if  he  has  a  humorous  turn,  or  irritated  if  he  is 
irascible,  by  the  astounding  mental  confusions  in  which 
men  contentedly  pass  their  lives.  To  be  just,  this  ac- 
count ought  to  include  both  sexes,  for  women  indulge 
in  confusions  even  more  frequently  than  men,  and  are 
less  disposed  to  separate  things  when  they  have  once 
been  jumbled  together. 

A  confusion  of  ideas  in  politics  which  is  not  uncom- 
mon amongst  the  enemies  of  all  change  is  to  believe 
that  whoever  desires  the  reform  of  some  law  wants  to 
do  something  that  is  not  legal,  and  has  a  rebellious, 
subversive  spirit.  Yet  the  reformer  is  not  a  rebel ;  it 
is  indeed  the  peculiar  distinction  of  his  position  not  to 
be  a  rebel,  for  there  has  never  been  a  real  reformer  (as 
distinguished  from  a  revolutionist)  who  wished  to  do 
anything  illegal.  He  desires,  certainly,  to  do  some- 
thing which  is  not  legal  just  at  present,  but  he  does 
not  wish  to  do  it  so  long  as  it  remains  in  the  condi- 
tion of  illegality.  He  wishes  first  to  make  it  legal  by 


CONFUSIONS.  .  281 

obtaining  legislative  sanction  for  his  proposal,  and  then 
to  do  it  when  it  shall  have  become  as  legal  as  anything 
else,  and  when  all  the  most  conservative  people  in  the 
kingdom  will  be  strenuous  in  its  defence  as  "  part  and 
parcel  of  the  law  of  the  land." 

Another  confusion  in  political  matters  which  has 
always  been  extremely  common  is  that  between  pri- 
vate and  public  libert}'.  Suppose  that  a  law  were 
enacted  to  the  effect  that  each  British  subject  without 
exception  should  go  to  Mass  every  Sunday  morning, 
on  pain  of  death,  and  should  take  the  Roman  Catholic 
Sacrament  of  Holy  Communion,  involving  auricular 
confession,  at  Easter;  such  a  law  would  not  be  an 
infringement  of  the  sensible  liberty  of  Roman  Catho- 
lics, because  the}r  do  these  things  already.  Then  they 
might  say,  "  People  talk  of  the  tyranny  of  the  law, 
3'et  the  law  is  not  tyrannical  at  all ;  we  enjoy  perfect 
liberty  in  England,  and  it  is  most  unreasonable  to  say 
that  we  do  not."  The  Protestant  part  of  the  commu- 
nity would  exclaim  that  such  a  law  was  an  intolerable 
infringement  of  liberty,  and  would  rush  to  arms  to  get 
rid  of  it.  This  is  the  distinction  between  private  and 
public  liberty.  There  is  private  liberty  when  some  men 
are  not  interfered  with  in  the  ordinary  habits  of  their 
existence  ;  and  there  has  always  been  much  of  such  pri- 
vate liberty  under  the  worst  of  despotisms  ;  but  there  is 
not  public  liberty  until  every  man  in  the  country  may 
live  according  to  his  own  habits,  so  long  as  he  does  not 
interfere  with  the  rights  of  others.  Here  is  a  distinc- 
tion plain  enough  to  be  evident  to  a  very  commonplace 
understanding;  yet  the  admirers  of  tyrants  are  often 


282  CONFUSIONS. 

successful  in  producing  a  confusion  between  the  two 
things,  and  in  persuading  people  that  there  was  "am- 
ple liberty"  under  some  foreign  despot,  because  they 
themselves,  when  they  visited  the  country  that  lay 
prostrate  under  his  irresistible  power,  were  allowed  to 
eat  good  dinners,  and  drive  about  unmolested,  and 
amuse  themselves  by  da}T  and  by  night  according  to 
every  suggestion  of  their  fancy. 

Man}-  confusions  have  been  intentionally  maintained 
by  political  enemies  in  order  to  cast  odium  on  their 
adversaries ;  so  that  it  becomes  of  great  importance  to 
a  political  cause  that  it  should  not  bear  a  name  with 
two  meanings,  or  to  which  it  may  be  possible  to  give 
another  meaning  than  that  jvhich  was  originally  in- 
tended. The  word  "Radical"  is  an  instance  of  this. 
According  to  the  enemies  of  radicalism  it  has  always 
meant  a  political  principle  that  strikes  at  the  root  of 
the  constitution ;  but  it  was  not  that  meaning  of  the 
word  which  induced  the  first  Radicals  to  commit  the 
imprudence  of  adopting  it.  The  term  referred  to  agri- 
culture rather  than  tree-felling,  the  original  idea  being 
to  uproot  abuses  as  a  gardener  pulls  weeds  up  by  the 
roots.  I  distinctly  remember  my  first  boyish  notion  of 
the  Radicals.  I  saw  them  in  a  sort  of  sylvan  picture,  — 
violent  savage  men  armed  with  sharp  axes,  and  hewing 
away  at  the  foot  of  a  majestic  oak  that  stood  for  the 
glory  of  England.  Since  then  I  have  become  ac- 
quainted with  another  instance  of  the  unfortunate 
adoption  of  a  word  which  may  be  plausibly  perverted 
from  its  meaning.  The  French  republican  motto  is 
Liberte^  Egalite,  Fraternite,  and  to  this  day  there  is 


CONFUSIONS.  283 

hardly  an  English  newspaper  that  does  not  from  time 
to  time  sneer  at  the  French  Republicans  for  aspiring  to 
equality,  as  if  equality  were  not  impossible  in  the  na- 
ture of  things,  and  as  if,  supposing  an  unnatural  equal- 
ity to  be  established  to-day,  the  operation  of  natural 
causes  would  not  bring  about  inequality  to-morrow. 
We  are  told  that  some  men  would  be  stronger,  or 
cleverer,  or  more  industrious  than  others,  and  earn 
more  and  make  themselves  leaders ;  that  children  of 
the  same  parents,  starting  in  life  with  the  same  for- 
tunes, never  remain  in  precisely  the  same  positions ; 
and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose.  All  this  trite 
and  familiar  reasoning  is  without  application  here. 
The  word  Egalite  in  the  motto  means  something  which 
can  be  attained,  and  which,  though  it  did  not  exist  in 
France  before  the  Revolution,  is  now  almost  a  per- 
fect reality  there,  —  it  means  equality  before  the  law; 
it  means  that  there  shall  not  be  privileged  classes 
exempt  from  paying  taxes,  and  favored  with  such 
scandalous  partiality  that  all  posts  of  importance  in 
the  government,  the  army,  the  magistracy,  and  the 
church  are  habitually  reserved  for  them.  If  it  meant 
absolute  equality,  no  Republican  could  aim  at  wealth, 
which  is  the  creation  of  inequality^  in  his  own  favor ; 
neither  would  any  Republican  labor  for  intellectual 
reputation,  or  accept  honors.  There  would  not  even 
be  a  Republican  in  the  g}*ninastic  societies,  where  every 
member  strives  to  become  stronger  and  more  agile 
than  his  fellows,  and  knows  that,  whether  in  his  favor 
or  against  him,  the  most  striking  inequalities  will  be 
manifested  in  every  public  contest  There  would  be  no 


284  CONFUSIONS. 

Republicans  in  the  University,  for  has  it  not  a  hierar- 
chy with  the  most  marked  gradations  of  title,  and 
differences  of  consideration  and  authority?  Yet  the 
University  is  so  full  of  Republicans  that  it  is  scarcely 
too  much  to  say  that  it  is  entirely  composed  of  them. 
I  am  aware  that  there  are  dreamers  in  the  working 
classes,  both  in  France  and  elsewhere,  who  look  for- 
ward to  a  social  state  when  all  men  will  work  for  the 
same  wages,  —  when  the  Meissonier  of  the  day  will  be 
paid  like  a  sign-painter,  and  the  sign-painter  like  a 
white-washer,  and  all  three  perform  each  other's  tasks 
by  turns  for  equality  of  agreeableness  in  the  work ;  but 
these  dreams  are  only  possible  in  extreme  ignorance, 
and  lie  quite  outside  of  an}-  theories  to  be  seriously 
considered. 

Religious  intolerance,  when  quite  sincere  and  not 
mixed  up  with  social  contempt  or  political  hatred,  is 
founded  upon  a  remarkable  confusion  of  ideas,  which  is 
this.  The  persecutor  assumes  that  the  heretic  know- 
ingly and  malicious!}-  resists  the  will  of  God  in  reject- 
ing the  theology  which  he  knows  that  God  desires  him 
to  receive.  This  is  a  confusion  between  the  mental 
states  of  the  believer  and  the  unbeliever,  and  it  does 
not  accurately  describe  either,  for  the  believer  of  course 
accepts  the  doctrine,  and  the  unbeliever  does  not  reject 
it  as  coming  from  God,  but  precisely  because  he  is  con- 
vinced that  it  has  a  purely  human  origin. 

"  Are  you  a  Puseyite?  "  was  a  question  put  to  a  lady 
in  my  hearing;  and  she  at  once  answered,  "Certainly 
not,  I  should  be  ashamed  of  being  a  Puseyite."  Here 
was  a  confusion  between  her  present  mental  state  and 


CONFUSIONS.  285 

her  supposed  possible  mental  state  as  a  Puseyite  ;  for  it 
is  impossible  to  be  a  real  Puseyite  and  at  the  same 
time  to  think  of  one's  belief  with  an  inward  sense  of 
shame.  A  believer  always  thinks  that  his  belief  is 
simply  the  truth,  and  nobody  feels  ashamed  of  believ- 
ing what  is  true.  Even  concealment  of  a  belief  does 
not  imply  shame ;  and  those  who  have  been  compelled, 
in  self-defence,  to  hide  their  real  opinions,  have  been 
ashamed,  if  at  all,  of  hiding  and  not  of  having  them. 

A  confusion  common  to  all  who  do  not  think,  and 
avoided  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  by  those  who 
do,  is  that  between  their  own  knowledge  and  the  knowl- 
edge possessed  by  another  person  who  has  different 
tastes,  different  receptive  powers,  and  other  opportuni- 
ties. They  cannot  imagine  that  the  world  does  not 
appear  the  same  to  him  that  it  appears  to  them.  They 
do  not  really  believe  that  he  can  feel  quite  differently 
from  themselves  and  still  be  in  every  respect  as  sound 
in  mind  and  as  intelligent  as  they  are.  The  incapacity 
to  imagine  a  different  mental  condition  is  strikingly 
manifested  in  what  we  call  the  Philistine  mind,  and  is 
one  of  its  strongest  characteristics.  The  true  Philistine 
thinks  that  every  form  of  culture  which  opens  out  a 
world  that  is  closed  against  himself  leaves  the  votary 
exactly  where  he  was  before.  "  I  cannot  imagine  why 
you  live  in  Italy,"  said  a  Philistine  to  an  acquaintance ; 
"  nothing  could  induce  me  to  live  in  Italy."  He  did 
not  take  into  account  the  difference  of  gifts  and  culture, 
but  supposed  the  person  he  addressed  to  have  just  his 
own  mental  condition,  the  only  one  that  he  was  able  to 
conceive,  whereas,  in  fact,  that  person  was  so  endowed 


286  CONFUSIONS. 

and  so  educated  as  to  enjoy  Itaty  in  the  supreme  degree. 
He  spoke  the  purest  Italian  with  perfect  ease  ;  he  had  a 
considerable  knowledge  of  Italian  literature  and  an- 
tiquities ;  his  love  of  natural  beauty  amounted  to  an 
insatiable  passion  ;  and  from  his  youth  he  had  delighted 
in  architecture  and  painting.  Of  these  gifts,  tastes, 
and  acquirements  the  Philistine  was  simply  destitute. 
For  him  Italy  could  have  had  no  meaning.  Where  the 
other  found  unfailing  interest  he  would  have  suffered 
from  unrelieved  ennui,  and  would  have  been  continually 
looking  back,  with  the  intolerable  longing  of  nostalgia, 
to  the  occupations  of  his  English  home.  In  the  same 
spirit  a  French  bourgeois  once  complained  in  my  hear- 
ing that  too  much  space  was  given  to  foreign  affairs  in 
the  newspapers,  "  car,  vous  comprenez,  cela  n'interesse 
pas."  This  was  simply  an  attribution  of  his  personal 
apathy  to  everybody  else.  Certainly,  as  a  nation,  the 
French  take  less  interest  in  foreign  affairs  than  we  do, 
but  they  do  take  some  interest,  and  the  degree  of  it  is 
exactly  reflected  by  the  importance  given  to  foreign 
affairs  in  their  journals,  always  greatest  in  the  best  of 
them.  An  Englishman  said,  also  in  my  hearing,  that 
to  have  a  library  was  a  mistake,  as  a  library  was  of  no 
use ;  he  admitted  that  a  few  books  might  be  useful  if 
the  owner  read  them  through.  Here,  again,  is  the 
attribution  of  one  person's  experience  to  all  cases. 
This  man  had  never  himself  felt  the  need  of  a  library, 
and  did  not  know  how  to  use  one.  He  could  not  realize 
the  fact  that  a  few  books  only  allow  you  to  read,  whilst 
a  library  allows  you  to  pursue  a  study.  He  could  not 
at  all  imagine  what  the  word  ' '  library "  means  to  a 


CONFUSIONS.  287 

scholar,  —  that  it  means  the  not  being  stopped  at  every 
turn  for  want  of  light,  the  not  being  exposed  to  scorn- 
ful correction  b}'  men  of  inferior  abilhy  and  inferior 
industry,  whose  only  superiority  is  the  great  and  terrible 
one  of  living  within  a  cabfare  of  the  British  Museum. 
I  remember  reading  an  account  of  the  establishment 
of  a  Greek  professorship  in  a  provincial  town,  and  it 
was  wisely  proposed,  by  one  who  understood  the  diffi- 
culties of  a  scholar  remote  from  the  great  libraries,  that 
provision  should  be  made  for  the  accumulation  of  books 
for  the  use  of  the  future  occupants  of  the  chair,  but 
the  trustees  (honest  men  of  business,  who  had  no  idea 
of  a  scholar's  wants  and  necessities)  said  that  each 
professor  must  provide  his  own  library,  just  as  road 
commissioners  advertise  that  a  surveyor  must  have  his 
own  horse. 

One  of  the  most  serious  reasons  why  it  is  imprudent 
to  associate  with  people  whose  opinions  you  do  not  wish 
to  be  made  responsible  for  is  that  others  will  confound 
you  with  them.  There  is  an  old  Latin  proverb,  and 
also  a  French  one,  to  the  effect  that  if  a  man  knows 
what  }Tour  friends  are,  he  knows  what  }*ou  are  yourself. 
These  proverbs  are  not  true,  but  the}-  well  express  the 
popular  confusion  between  having  something  in  common 
and  having  everj'thing  in  common.  If  you  are  on 
friendl}'  terms  with  clergymen,  it  is  inferred  that  you 
have  a  clerical  mind  ;  when  the  reason  may  be  that  you 
are  a  scholar  living  in  the  country,  and  can  find  no 
scholarship  in  your  neighborhood  except  in  the  parson- 
age houses.  You  associate  with  foreigners,  and  are 
supposed  to  be  unpatriotic ;  when  in  truth  you  are  as 


288  CONFUSIONS. 

patriotic  as  any  rational  and  well-informed  creature 
can  be,  but  have  a  faculty  for  languages  that  you  like 
to  exercise  in  conversation.  This  kind  of  confusion 
takes  no  account  of  the  indisputable  fact  that  men  con- 
stantly associate  together  on  the  ground  of  a  single 
pursuit  that  the%y  have  in  common,  often  a  mere  amuse- 
ment, or  because,  in  spite  of  every  imaginable  differ- 
ence, they  are  drawn  together  by  one  of  those  mysterious 
natural  affinities  which  are  so  obscure  in  their  origin 
and  action  that  no  human  intelligence  can  explain 
them. 

Not  only  are  a  man's  tastes  liable  to  be  confounded 
with  those  of  his  personal  acquaintances,  but  he  may 
find  some  trade  attributed  to  him,  by  a  perfectly  irra- 
tional association  of  ideas,  because  it  happens  to  be 
prevalent  in  the  country  where  he  lives.  I  have  known 
instances  of  men  supposed  to  have  been  in  the  cotton 
trade  simply  because  they  had  lived  in  Lancashire,  and 
of  others  supposed  to  be  in  the  mineral  oil  trade  for  no 
other  reason  than  because  they  had  lived  in  a  part  of 
France  where  mineral  oil  is  found. 

Professional  men  are  usually  very  much  alive  to  the 
danger  of  confusion  as  affecting  their  success  in  life.  If 
you  are  known  to  do  two  things,  a  confusion  gets  estab- 
lished between  the  two,  and  you  are  no  longer  classed 
with  that  ease  and  decision  which  the  world  finds  to  be 
convenient.  It  therefore  becomes  a  part  of  worldly 
wisdom  to  keep  one  of  the  occupations  in  obscurity, 
and  if  that  is  not  altogether  possible,  then  to  profess 
as  loudly  and  as  frequently  as  you  can  that  it  is  entirely 
secondary  and  only  a  refreshment  after  more  serious 


CONFUSIONS.  289 

toils.  Many  years  ago  a  well-known  surgeon  published 
a  set  of  etchings,  and  the  merit  of  them  was  so  danger- 
ously conspicuous,  so  superior,  in  fact,  to  the  average 
of  professional  work,  that  he  felt  constrained  to  keep 
those  too  clever  children  in  their  places  by  a  quotation 
from  Horace,  — 

"  0  laborum 
Dulce  lenimen ! " 

To  present  one's  self  to  the  world  always  in  one  char- 
acter is  a  great  help  to  success,  and  maintains  the 
stability  of  a  position.  The  kings  in  the  story-books 
and  on  playing  cards  who  have  always  their  crowns  on 
their  heads  and  sceptres  in  their  hands,  appear  to  enjoy 
a  decided  advantage  over  modern  royalty,  which  dresses 
like  other  people  and  enters  into  common  interests  and 
pursuits.  Literary  men  admire  the  prudent  self-control 
of  our  literary  sovereign,  Tennyson,  who  by  his  rigorous 
abstinence  from  prose  takes  care  never  to  appear  in 
public  without  his  singing  robes  and  his  crown  of  laurel. 
Had  he  carelessly  and  familiarly  employed  the  commoner 
vehicle  of  expression,  there  would  have  been  a  confusion 
of  two  Tenn}'sons  in  the  popular  idea,  whilst  at  present 
his  name  is  as  exclusively  associated  with  the  exquisite 
music  of  his  verse  as  that  of  Mozart  with  another  kind 
of  melody. 

The  great  evil  of  confusions,  as  they  affect  conversa- 
tion, is  that  the}'  constantly  place  a  man  of  accurate 
mental  habits  in  such  trying  situations  that,  unless  he 
exercises  the  most  watchful  self-control,  he  is  sure  to 
commit  the  sin  of  contradiction.  We  have  all  of  us 
met  with  the  lady  who  does  not  think  it  necessary  to 
19 


290  CONFUSIONS. 

distinguish  between  one  person  and  another,  who  will 
tell  a  story  of  some  adventure  as  having  happened  to 
A,  when  in  reality  it  happened  to  B  ;  who  will  attribute 
sayings  and  opinions  to  C,  when  they  properly  belong  to 
D  ;  and  deliberately  maintain  that  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence whatever,  when  some  suffering  lover  of  accuracy 
undertakes  to  set  her  right.  It  is  in  vain  to  argue  that 
there  really  does  exist,  in  the  order  of  the  universe,  a 
distinction  between  one  person  and  another,  though 
both  belong  to  the  human  race  ;  and  that  organisms  are 
generall}'  isolated,  though  there  has  been  an  exception 
in  the  case  of  the  Siamese  twins.  The  death  of  the 
wonderful  swimmer  who  attempted  to  descend  the 
rapids  of  Niagara  afforded  an  excellent  opportunity 
for  confounders.  In  France  they  all  confounded  him 
with  Captain  Boy  ton,  who  swam  with  an  apparatus  ;  and 
when  poor  Webb  was  sucked  under  the  whirlpool  the}' 
said,  "  You  see  that,  after  all,  his  inflated  dress  was  of 
no  avail."  Fame  of  a  higher  kind  does  not  escape 
from  similar  confusions.  On  the  death  of  George  Eliot, 
French  readers  of  English  novels  lamented  that  they 
would  have  nothing  more  from  the  pen  that  wrote 
"John  Halifax,"  and  a  cultivated  Frenchman  ex- 
pressed his  regret  for  the  author  of  ' '  Adam  Bede  " 
and  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."1 

Men  who  have  trained  themselves  in  habits  of  accu- 
rate observation  often  have  a  difficult}"  in  realizing  the 
confused  mental  condition  of  those  who  simply  receive 

1  A  French  critic  recently  observed  that  his  countrymen  knew 
little  of  the  tragedy  of  "  Macbeth  "  except  the  familiar  line  "  To  be 
or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question  !  " 


CONFUSIONS.  291 

impressions  without  comparison  and  classification.  A 
fine  field  for  confused  tourists  is  architecture.  They  go 
to  France  and  Italy,  they  talk  about  what  the}'  have 
seen,  and  leave  you  in  bewilderment,  until  you  make  the 
discovery  that  they  have  substituted  one  building  for 
another,  or,  better  still,  mixed  two  different  edifices 
inextricably  together.  Foreigners  of  this  class  are 
quite  unable  to  establish  any  distinction  between  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  and  Westminster  Abbey,  because 
both  have  towers ;  and  they  are  not  clear  about  the 
difference  between  the  British  Museum  and  the  National 
Gallery,  because  there  are  columns  in  the  fronts  of 
both.1  English  tourists  will  stay  some  time  in  Paris, 
and  afterwards  not  be  able  to  distinguish  between 
photographs  of  the  Louvre  and  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
\Ve  need  not  be  surprised  that  people  who  have  never 
studied  architecture  at  all  should  not  be  sure  whether 
St.  Paul's  is  a  Gothic  building  or  not,  but  the  wonder 
is  that  they  seem  to  retain  no  impressions  received 
merely  by  the  eye.  One  would  think  that  the  eye 
alone,  without  knowledge,  would  be  enough  to  estab- 
lish a  distinction  between  one  building  and  another 
altogether  different  from  it ;  yet  it  is  not  so. 

I  cannot  close  this  chapter  without  some  allusion  to 

1  I  never  make  a  statement  of  this  kind  without  remembering 
instances,  even  when  it  does  not  seem  worth  while  to  mention 
them  particularly.  It  is  not  of  much  use  to  quote  what  one  has 
heard  in  conversation,  but  here  are  two  instances  in  print.  Reclug, 
the  French  geographer,  in  "  La  Terre  a  Vol  d'Oiseau,"  gives  a 
woodcut  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  and  calls  it  "  L'Abbaye  de 
Westminster."  The  same  error  has  even  occurred  in  a  French 
art  periodical. 


292  CONFUSIONS. 

a  crafty  employment  of  words  only  too  well  understood 
already  by  those  who  influence  the  popular  mind.  There 
is  such  a  natural  tendency  to  confusion  in  all  ordinary 
human  beings  that  if  you  repeatedly  present  to  them  two 
totally  distinct  things  at  the  same  time,  they  will,  before 
long,  associate  them  so  closely  as  to  consider  them  in- 
separable by  their  very  nature.  This  is  the  reason  why 
all  those  branches  of  education  that  train  the  mind  in 
analysis  are  so  valuable.  To  be  able  to  distinguish 
between  accidental  connections  of  things  or  characteris- 
tics and  necessary  connections,  is  one  of  the  best  powers 
that  education  bestows  upon  us.  B}7  far  the  greater 
number  of  erroneous  popular  notions  are  due  simply  to 
the  inability  to  make  this  distinction  which  belongs  to 
all  undisciplined  minds.  Calumnies,  that  have  great  in- 
fluence over  such  minds,  must  lose  their  power  as  the 
habit  of  analysis  enables  people  to  separate  ideas  which 
the  uncultivated  mingle  together. 

Insufficient  anatysis  leads  to  a  very  common  sort  of 
confusion  between  the  defectiveness  of  a  part  onl}r  and 
a  defect  pervading  the  whole.  An  invention  (as  often 
happens)  does  not  visibly  succeed  on  the  first  trial,  and 
then  the  whole  of  the  common  public  will  at  once  de- 
clare the  invention  to  be  bad,  when,  in  reality,  it  may 
be  a  good  invention  with  a  local  defect,  easily  remedi- 
able. Suppose  that  a  yacht  misses  stays,  the  common 
sort  of  criticism  would  be  to  sa}r  that  she  was  a  bad 
boat,  when,  in  fact,  her  hull  and  everything  else  might 
be  thoroughly  well  made,  and  the  defect  be  due  only  to 
a  miscalculation  in  the  placing  of  her  canvas.  I  have 
myself  seen  a  small  steel  boat  sink  at  her  anchorage, 


CONFUSIONS.  293 

and  a  crowd  laugh  at  her  as  badly  contrived,  when 
her  only  defect  was  the  unobserved  starting  of  a  rivet. 
The  boat  was  fished  up,  the  rivet  replaced,  and  she 
leaked  and  sank  no  more.  When  Stephenson's  loco- 
motive did  not  go  because  its  wheels  slid  on  the  rails, 
the  vulgar  spectators  were  delighted  with  the  supposed 
failure  of  a  benefactor  of  the  human  species,  and  set 
up  a  noise  of  jubilant  derision.  The  invention,  they 
had  decided,  was  of  no  good,  and  they  sang  their  own 
foolish  gaudeamvA  igitur.  Stephenson  at  once  per- 
ceived that  the  only  defect  was  want  of  weight,  and  he 
immediately  proceeded  to  remedy  it  by  loading  the 
machine  with  ballast  So  it  is  in  thousands  of  cases. 
The  common  mind,  untrained  in  analysis,  condemns 
the  whole  as  a  failure,  when  the  defect  lies  in  some 
small  part  which  the  specialist,  trained  in  analysis, 
seeks  for  and  discovers. 

I  have  not  touched  upon  the  confusions  due  to  the 
decline  of  the  intellectual  powers.  In  that  case  the 
reason  is  to  be  sought  for  in  the  condition  of  the  brain, 
and  there  is,  I  believe,  no  remedy.  In  healthy  people, 
enjoying  the  complete  vigor  of  their  faculties,  confusions 
are  simply  the  result  of  carelessness  and  indolence,  and 
are  proper  subjects  for  sarcasm.  With  senile  confusions 
the  case  is  very  different.  To  treat  them  with  hard, 
sharp,  decided  correction,  as  is  so  often  done  by  people 
of  vigorous  intellect,  is  a  most  cruel  abuse  of  power. 
Yet  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  ought  to  be  done  when  an 
old  person  falls  into  manifest  errors  of  this  kind.  Simple 
acquiescence  is  in  this  case  a  pardonable  abandonment 
of  truth,  but  there  are  situations  in  which  it  is  not 


294  CONFUSIONS. 

possible.  Then  you  find  yourself  compelled  to  show- 
where  the  confusion  lies.  You  do  it  as  gently  as  may 
be,  but  you  fail  to  convince,  and  awaken  that  tenacious, 
unyielding  opposition  which  is  a  characteristic  of  de- 
cline in  its  earlier  stages.  All  that  can  be  said  is,  that 
when  once  it  has  become  evident  that  confusions  are 
not  careless  but  senile,  they  ought  to  be  passed  over  if 
possible,  and  if  not,  then  treated  with  the  very  utmost 
delicacy  and  gentleness. 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM.  295 


ESSAY  XXI. 

THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

A  MONGST  the  common  injustices  of  the  world 
•**•  there  have  been  few  more  complete  than  its 
reprobation  of  the  state  of  mind  and  manner  of  life 
that  have  been  called  Bohemianism ;  and  so  closely  is 
that  reprobation  attached  to  the  word  that  I  would 
gladly  have  substituted  some  other  term  for  the  better 
Bohemianism  had  the  English  language  provided  me 
with  one.  It  may,  however,  be  a  gain  to  justice  itself 
that  we  should  be  compelled  to  use  the  same  expres- 
sion, qualified  only  by  an  adjective,  for  two  states  of 
existence  that  are  the  good  and  the  bad  conditions  of 
the  same,  as  it  will  tend  to  make  us  more  charitable  to 
those  whom  we  must  always  blame,  and  yet  may  blame 
with  a  more  or  less  perfect  understanding  of  the  causes 
that  led  them  into  error. 

The  lower  forms  of  Bohemianism  are  associated  with 
several  kinds  of  vice,  and  are  therefore  justly  disliked 
by  people  who  know  the  value  of  a  well-regulated  life, 
and,  when  at  the  worst,  regarded  by  them  with  feel- 
ings of  positive  abhorrence.  The  vices  connected  with 
these  forms  of  Bohemianism  are  idleness,  irregularity, 
extravagance,  drunkenness,  and  immorality ;  and  be- 
sides these  vices  the  worst  Bohemianism  is  associated 
with  many  repulsive  faults  that  may  not  be  exactly 


296  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

vices,  and  yet  are  almost  as  much  disliked  by  decent 
people.  These  faults  are  slovenliness,  dirt,  a  degree 
of  carelessness  in  matters  of  business,  often  scarcely 
to  be  distinguished  from  dishonesty,  and  habitual  neg- 
lect of  the  decorous  observances  that  are  inseparable 
from  a  high  state  of  civilization. 

After  such  an  account  of  the  worst  Bohemianism,  in 
which,  as  the  reader  perceives,  I  have  extenuated  noth- 
ing, it  may  seem  almost  an  act  of  temerity  to  advance 
the  theory  that  this  is  only  the  bad  side  of  a  state  of 
mind  and  feeling  that  has  its  good  and  perfectly 
respectable  side  also.  If  this  seems  difficult  to  be- 
lieve, the  reader  has  only  to  consider  how  certain 
other  instincts  of  humanity  have  also  their  good  and 
bad  developments.  The  religious  and  the  sexual  in- 
stincts, in  their  best  action,  are  on  the  side  of  national 
and  domestic  order,  but  in  their  worst  action  the}'  pro- 
duce sanguinary  quarrels,  ferocious  persecutions,  and 
the  excesses  of  the  most  degrading  sensuality.  It  is 
therefore  by  no  means  a  new  theory  that  a  human 
instinct  may  have  a  happy  or  an  unfortunate  develop- 
ment, and  it  is  not  a  reason  for  rejecting  Bohemianism, 
without  unprejudiced  examination,  that  the  worst  forms 
of  it  are  associated  with  evil. 

Again,  before  going  to  the  raison  d'etre  of  Bohemi- 
anism, let  me  point  to  one  consideration  of  great  impor- 
tance to  us  if  we  desire  to  think  quite  justly.  It  is, 
and  has  always  been,  a  characteristic  of  Bohemianism 
to  be  extremely  careless  of  appearances,  and  to  live 
outside  the  shelter  of  hypocrisy ;  so  its  vices  are  far 
more  visible  than  the  same  vices  when  practised  by 


THE  XUBLE  BOHEMIAN1SM.  297 

men  of  the  world,  and  incomparably  more  offensive  to 
persons  with  a  strong  sense  of  what  is  called  "  pro- 
priety." At  the  time  when  the  worst  form  of  Bohemi- 
anism  was  more  common  than  it  is  now,  its  most 
serious  vices  were  also  the  vices  of  the  best  society. 
If  the  Bohemian  drank  to  excess,  so  did  the  nobility 
and  gentry ;  if  the  Bohemian  had  a  mistress,  so  had 
the  most  exalted  personages.  The  Bohemian  was  not 
so  much  blamed  for  being  a  sepulchre  as  for  being  an 
ill-kept  sepulchre,  and  not  a  whited  sepulchre  like  the 
rest.  It  was  far  more  his  slovenliness  and  poverty  than 
his  graver  vices  that  made  him  offensive  to  a  corrupt 
society  with  fine  clothes  and  ceremonious  manners. 

Bohemianism  and  Philistinism  are  the  terms  by 
which,  for  want  of  better,  we  designate  two  opposite 
ways  of  estimating  wealth  and  culture.  There  are  two 
categories  of  advantages  in  wealth,  —  the  intellect- 
ual and  the  material.  The  intellectual  advantages  are 
leisnre  to  think  and  read,  travel,  and  intelligent  con- 
versation. The  material  advantages  are  large  and 
comfortable  houses,  tables  well  served  and  abundant, 
good  coats,  clean  linen,  fine  dresses  and  diamonds, 
horses,  carriages,  servants,  hot-houses,  wine-cellars, 
shootings.  Evidently  the  most  perfect  condition  of 
wealth  would  unite  both  classes  of  advantages ;  but 
this  is  not  always,  or  often,  possible,  and  it  so  hap- 
pens that  in  most  situations  a  choice  has  to  be  made 
between  them.  The  Bohemian  is  the  man  who  with 
small  means  desires  and  contrives  to  obtain  the  intel- 
lectual advantages  of  wealth,  which  he  considers  to 
be  leisure  to  think  and  read,  travel,  and  intelligent 


298  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIAN1SM. 

conversation.  The  Philistine  is  the  man  who,  whether 
his  means  are  small  or  large,  devotes  himself  wholly 
to  the  attainment  of  the  other  set  of  advantages,  —  a 
large  house,  good  food  and  wine,  clothes,  horses,  and 
servants. 

The  Philistine  gratifies  his  passion  for  comfort  to  a 
wonderful  extent,  and  thousands  of  ingenious  people 
are  incessantly  laboring  to  make  his  existence  more 
comfortable  still,  so  that  the  one  great  inconvenience 
he*  is  threatened  with  is  the  super-multiplication  of  con- 
veniences. Now  there  is  a  certain  noble  Bohemianism 
which  perceives  that  the  Philistine  life  is  not  realty  so 
rich  as  it  appears,  that  it  has  only  some  of  the  advan- 
tages which  ought  to  belong  to  riches,  and  these  not 
quite  the  best  advantages ;  and  this  noble  Bohemian- 
ism  makes  the  best  advantages  its  first  aim,  being  con- 
tented with  such  a  small  measure  of  riches  as,  when 
ingeniously  and  skilfully  employed,  may  secure  them. 

A  highly  developed  material  luxury,  such  as  that 
which  fills  our  modern  universal  exhibitions  and  is  the 
great  pride  of  our  age,  has  in  itself  so  much  the  appear- 
ance of  absolute  civilization  that  any  proposal  to  do 
without  it  may  seem  like  a  return  to  savagery ;  and 
Bohemianism  is  exposed  to  the  accusation  of  discour- 
aging arts  and  manufactures.  There  is  a  physical  side 
to  Bohemianism  to  be  considered  later ;  and  there  may, 
indeed,  be  some  connection  between  Bohemianism  and 
the  life  of  a  red  Indian  who  roams  in  his  woods  and 
contents  himself  with  a  low  standard  of  physical  well- 
being.  The  fair  statement  of  the  case  between  Bohe- 
mianism and  the  civilization  of  arts  and  manufactures 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM.  299 

Is  as  follows:  the  intelligent  Bohemian  does  not  de- 
spise them ;  on  the  contrary,  when  he  can  afford  it, 
he  encourages  them  and  often  surrounds  himself  with 
beautiful  things ;  but  he  will  not  barter  his  mental 
liberty  in  exchange  for  them,  as  the  Philistine  does 
so  readil}*.  If  the  Bohemian  simply  prefers  sordid 
idleness  to  the  comfort  which  is  the  reward  of  indus- 
try, he  has  no  part  in  the  higher  Bohemianism,  but 
combines  the  Philistine  fault  of  intellectual  apathy 
with  the  Bohemian  fault  of  standing  aloof  from  indus- 
trial civilization.  If  a  man  abstains  from  furthering 
the  industrial  civilization  of  his  country  he  is  only 
excusable  if  he  pursues  some  object  of  at  least  equal 
importance.  Intellectual  civilization  really  is  such  an 
object,  and  the  noble  Bohemianism  is  excusable  for 
serving  it  rather  than  that  other  civilization  of  arts 
and  manufactures  which  has  such  numerous  servants 
of  its  own.  If  the  Bohemian  does  not  redeem  his 
negligence  of  material  things  by  superior  intellectual 
brightness,  he  is  half  a  Philistine,  he  is  destitute  of 
what  is  best  in  Bohemianism  (I  had  nearly  written  of 
all  that  is  worth  having  in  it),  and  his  contempt  for 
material  perfection  has  no  longer  any  charm,  because 
it  is  not  the  sacrifice  of  a  lower  merit  to  a  higher,  but 
the  blank  absence  of  the  lower  merit  not  compensated 
or  condoned  by  the  presence  of  anything  nobler  or 
better. 

Bohemianism  and  Philistinism  are  alike  in  combin- 
ing self-indulgence  with  asceticism,  but  they  are  ascetic 
or  self-indulgent  in  opposite  directions.  Bohemianism 
includes  a  certain  self-indulgence,  on  the  intellectual 


300  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

side,  in  the  pleasures  of  thought  and  observation  and 
in  the  exercise  of  the  imaginative  faculties,  combining 
this  with  a  certain  degree  of  asceticism  on  the  physical 
side,  not  a  severe  religious  asceticism,  but  a  disposi- 
tion, like  that  of  a  thorough  soldier  or  traveller,  to  do 
without  luxury  and  comfort,  and  take  the  absence  of 
them  gayly  when  they  are  not  to  be  had.  The  self- 
indulgence  of  Philistinism  is  in  bodily  comfort,  of 
which  it  has  never  enough ;  its  asceticism  consists  in 
denying  itself  leisure  to  read  and  think,  and  opportu- 
nities for  observation. 

The  best  way  of  describing  the  two  principles  will  be 
to  give  an  account  of  two  human  lives  that  exemplified 
them.  These  shall  not  be  described  from  imagination, 
but  from  accurate  memory  ;  and  I  will  not  have  recourse 
to  the  easy  artifice  of  selecting  an  unfavorable  example 
of  the  class  with  which  I  happen  to  have  a  minor  degree 
of  personal  sympath}'.  My  Philistine  shall  be  one  whom 
I  sincerely  loved  and  heartily  respected.  He  was  an 
admirable  example  of  everything  that  is  best  and  most 
worthy  in  the  Philistine  civilization  ;  and  I  believe  that 
nobody  who  ever  came  into  contact  with  him,  or  had 
dealings  with  him,  received  any  other  impression  than 
this,  that  he  had  a  natural  right  to  the  perfect  respect 
which  surrounded  him.  The  younger  son  of  a  poor 
gentleman,  he  began  life  with  narrow  means,  and  fol- 
lowed a  profession  in  a  small  provincial  town.  By 
close  attention  and  industry  he  saved  a  considerable 
sum  of  money,  which  he  lost  entirely  through  the  dis- 
honest}7 of  a  trusted  but  untrustworth}'  acquaintance. 
He  had  other  mishaps,  which  but  little  disturbed  his 


TILE   NUULE  UUUEM1AN1SM.  3(Jl 

serenit}',  and  he  patiently  amassed  enough  to  make 
himself  independent.  In  ever)-  relation  of  life  he  was 
not  only  above  reproach,  he  was  much  more  than  that  : 
he  was  a  model  of  what  men  ought  to  be,  yet  seldom 
are,  in  their  conduct  towards  others.  He  was  kind  to 
every  one,  generous  to  those  who  needed  his  generosity, 
and,  though  strict  with  himself,  tolerant  towards  aber- 
rations that  must  have  seemed  to  him  strangely  unrea- 
sonable. He  had  great  natural  dignity,  and  was  a 
gentleman  in  all  his  ways,  with  an  old-fushioned  grace 
and  courtesy.  He  had  no  vanity  ;  there  may  have  been 
some  pride  as  an  ingredient  in  his  character,  but  if  so 
it  was  of  a  kind  that  could  hurt  nobody,  for  he  was  as 
simple  and  straightforward  in  his  intercourse  with  the 
poor  as  he  was  at  ease  with  the  rich. 

After  this  description  (which  is  so  far  from  being 
overcharged  that  I  have  omitted,  for  the  sake  of  brev- 
ity, many  admirable  characteristics),  the  reader  may 
:i.-k  in  what  could  possibly  consist  the  Philistinism  of  a 
nature  that  had  attained  such  excellence.  The  answer 
is  that  it  consisted  in  the  perfect  willingness  with  which 
he  remained  outside  of  every  intellectual  movement, 
and  in  the  restriction  of  his  mental  activity  to  riches 
and  religion.  He  used  to  say  that  "a  man  must  be 
contentedly  ignorant  of  many  things,"  and  he  lived  in 
this  contented  ignorance.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
subjects  that  awaken  the  passionate  interest  of  in- 
tellectual men.  He  knew  no  language  but  his  own, 
bought  no  books,  knew  nothing  about  the  fine  arts, 
never  travelled,  and  remained  satisfied  with  the  h'fe 
of  his  little  provincial  town.  Totally  ignorant  of  all 


302  THE   NOBLE  BOUEMIANISM. 

foreign  literatures,  ancient  or  modern,  he  was  at  the 
same  time  so  slightly  acquainted  with  that  of  his  own 
country  that  he  had  not  read,  and  scarcely  even  knew 
by  name,  the  most  famous  authors  of  his  own  genera- 
tion.    His  little  bookcase  was  filled  almost  exclusive^ 
with  evangelical  sermons  and  commentaries.     This  is 
Philistinism  on  the  intellectual  side,  the  mental  inert- 
ness that  remains  "contentedly  ignorant"  of  almost 
everything  that  a  superior  intellect  cares  for.      But, 
besides  this,  there  is  also  a  Philistinism  on  the  physical 
side,  a  physical  inertness ;  and  in  this,  too,  my  friend 
was  a  real  Philistine.     In  spite  of  great  natural  strength, 
he  remained  inexpert  in  all  manly  exercises,  and  so 
had  not  enjoyed  life  on  that  side  as  he  might  have 
done,  and  as  the  Bohemian  generally  contrives  to  do. 
He  belonged  to  that  class  of-  men  who,  as  soon  as  they 
reach  middle  age,   are  scarcely  more  active  than  the 
chairs  they  sit  upon,  the  men  who  would  fall  from  a 
horse  if  it  were  lively,  upset  a  boat  if  it  were  light,  and 
be  drowned  if  the}''  fell  into  the  water.     Such  men  can 
walk  a  little  on  a  road,  or  they  can  sit  in  a  carriage 
and  be  dragged  about  by  horses.      "By  this  physical 
inertia  my  friend  was  deprived  of  one  set  of  impres- 
sions, as  he  was  deprived  by  his  intellectual  inertia  of 
another.     He  could  not  enjoy  that  close  intimacy  with 
nature  which  a  Bohemian  generally  finds  to  be  an  im- 
portant part  of  existence. 

I  wonder  if  it  ever  occurred  to  him  to  reflect,  in  the 
tedious  hours  of  too  tranquil  age,  how  much  of  what  is 
best  in  the  world  had  been  simply  missed  by  him  ;  how 
he  had  missed  all  the  variety  and  interest  of  travel,  the 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM.  303 

charm  of  intellectual  society,  the  influences  of  genius, 
and  even  the  physical  excitements  of  healthjr  out-door 
amusements.  When  I  think  what  a  magnificent  world 
it  is  that  we  inhabit,  how  much  natural  beauty  there  is 
in  it,  how  much  admirable  human  work  in  literature  and 
the  fine  arts,  how  many  living  men  and  women  there  arc 
in  each  generation  whose  acquaintance  a  wise  man  would 
travel  far  to  seek,  and  value  infinitely  when  he  had  found 
it,  I  cannot  avoid  the  conclusion  that  my  friend  might 
have  lived  as  he  did  in  a  planet  far  less  richly  endowed 
than  ours,  and  that  after  a  long  life  he  went  out  of  the 
world  without  having  really  known  it. 

I  have  said  that  the  intelligent  Bohemian  is  generally 
a  man  of  small  or  moderate  means,  whose  object  is  to 
enjoy  the  best  advantages  (not  the  most  visible)  of 
riches.  In  his  view  these  advantages  are  leisure,  travel, 
reading,  and  conversation.  His  estimate  is  different 
from  that  of  the  Philistine,  who  sets  his  heart  on  the 
lower  advantages  of  riches,  sacrificing  leisure,  travel, 
reading,  and  conversation,  in  order  to  have  a  larger 
house  and  more  servants.  But  how,  without  riches,  is 
the  Bohemian  to  secure  the  advantages  that  he  desires, 
for  they  also  belong  to  riches  ?  There  lies  the  difficulty, 
and  the  Bohemian's  way  of  overcoming  it  constitutes 
the  romance  of  his  existence.  In  absolute  destitution 
the  intelligent  Bohemian  life  is  not  possible.  A  little 
money  is  necessary  for  it,  and  the  art  and  craft  of 
Bohemianism  is  to  get  for  that  small  amount  of  money 
such  an  amount  of  leisure,  reading,  travel,  and  good 
conversation  as  ma}'  suffice  to  make  life  interesting. 
The  way  in  which  an  old-fashioned  Bohemian  usually 


304  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

set  about  it  was  this :  he  treated  material  comfort  and 
outward  appearances  as  matters  of  no  consequence, 
accepting  them  when  they  came  in  his  way,  but  endur- 
ing the  privation  of  them  gayly.  He  learned  the  art  of 
living  on  a  little. 

"  Je  suis  pauvre,  tres  pauvre,  et  vis  pourtant  fort  bien 
C'est  parce  que  je  vis  comme  les  gens  de  rien."  * 

He  spent  the  little  that  he  had,  first  for  what  was 
really  necessary,  and  next  for  what  really  gave  him 
pleasure,  but  he  spent  hardly  anything  in  deference  to 
the  usages  of  society.  In  this  way  he  got  what  he 
wanted.  His  books  were  second-hand  and  ill  bound, 
but  he  had  books  and  read  them ;  his  clothes  were 
shabby,  yet  still  they  kept  him  warm  ;  he  travelled  in 
all  sorts  of  cheap  wa}'S  and  frequently  on  foot ;  he  lived 
a  good  deal  in  some  unfashionable  quarters  in  a  capital 
cit}7,  and  saw  much  of  art,  nature,  and  humanity. 

To  exemplify  the  true  theory  of  Bohemianism  let  me 
describe  from  memory  two  rooms,  one  of  them  inhabited 
by  an  English  lady,  not  at  all  Bohemian,  the  other  by  a 
German  of  the  coarser  sex  who  was  essentially  and 
thoroughly  Bohemian.  The  lady's  room  was  not  a 
drawing-room,  being  a  reasonable  sort  of  sitting-room 
without  any  exasperating  inutilities,  but  it  was  extremely, 
excessively  comfortable.  Half  hidden  amongst  its  ma- 
terial comforts  might  be  found  a  little  rosewood  book- 
case containing  a  number  of  pretty  volumes  in  purple 
morocco  that  were  seldom,  if  ever,  opened.  My  German 
Bohemian  was  a  steady  reader  in  six  languages  ;  and  if 

1  Kodolphe,  in  "L'Honneur  et  1'Argent." 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM.  305 

he  had  seen  such  a  room  as  that  he  would  probably 
have  criticised  it  as  follows.  He  would  have  said,  "  It 
is  rich  in  superfluities,  but  has  not  what  is  necessary. 
The  carpet  is  superfluous ;  plain  boards  are  quite  com- 
fortable enough.  One  or  two  cheap  chairs  and  tables 
might  replace  this  costly  furniture.  That  pretty  rose- 
wood bookcase  holds  the  smallest  number  of  books  at 
the  greatest  cost,  and  is  therefore  contrary  to  true 
economy;  give  me,  rather,  a  sufficiency  of  long  deal 
shelves  all  innocent  of  paint.  What  is  the  use  of  fine 
bindings  and  gilt  edges?  This  little  library  is  miserably 
poor.  It  is  all  in  one  language,  and  does  not  represent 
even  English  literature  adequately ;  there  are  a  few 
novels,  books  of  poems,  and  travels,  but  I  find  neither 
science  nor  philosophy.  Such  a  room  as  that,  with  all 
its  comfort,  would  seem  to  me  like  a  prison.  My  mind 
needs  wider  pastures."  I  remember  his  own  room,  a 
place  to  make  a  rich  Englishman  shudder.  One  climbed 
up  to  it  by  a  stone  corkscrew-stair,  half-ruinous,  in  an 
old  mediaeval  house.  It  was  a  large  room,  with  a  bed  in 
one  corner,  and  it  was  wholly  destitute  ot  anything  re- 
sembling a  carpet  or  a  curtain.  The  remaining  furniture 
consisted  of  two  or  three  rush-bottomed  chairs,  one  large 
cheap  lounging-chair,  and  two  large  plain  tables.  There 
were  plenty  of  shelves  (common  deal,  unpainted) ,  and  on 
them  an  immense  litter  of  books  in  different  languages, 
most  of  them  in  paper  covers,  and  bought  second- 
hand, but  in  readable  editions.  In  the  way  of  material 
luxury  there  was  a  pot  of  tobacco ;  and  if  a  friend 
dropped  in  for  an  evening  a  jug  of  ale  would  make  its 
appearance.  My  Bohemian  was  shabby  in  his  dress, 


306  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

and  unfashionable ;  but  he  had  seen  more,  read  more, 
and  passed  more  hours  in  intelligent  conversation  than 
many  who  considered  themselves  his  superiors.  The 
entire  material  side  of  life  had  been  systematical^ 
neglected,  in  his  case,  in  order  that  the  intellectual 
side  might  flourish.  It  is  hardly  necessaiy  to  observe 
that  any  attempt  at  luxury  or  visible  comfort,  any  con- 
formity to  fashion,  would  have  been  incompatible,  on 
small  means,  with  the  intellectual  existence  that  this 
German  scholar  enjo}red. 

Long  ago  I  knew  an  English  Bohemian  who  had  a 
small  income  that  came  to  him  very  irregular!}'.  He 
had  begun  life  in  a  profession,  but  had  quitted  it  that 
he  might  travel  and  see  the  world,  which  he  did  in  the 
oddest,  most  original  fashion,  often  enduring  privation, 
but  never  ceasing  to  enjoy  life  deeply  in  his  own  way, 
and  to  accumulate  a  mass  of  observations  which  would 
have  been  quite  invaluable  to  an  author.  In  him  the 
two  activities,  pln^sical  and  mental,  were  alike  so  ener- 
getic that  they  might  have  led  to  great  results  had  they 
been  consistently  directed  to  some  private  or  public  end  ; 
but  unfortunately  he  remained  satisfied  with  the  exist- 
ence of  an  observant  wanderer  who  has  no  purpose 
beyond  the  healthy  exercise  of  his  faculties.  In  use- 
fulness to  others  he  was  not  to  be  compared  with  my 
good  and  admirable  Philistine,  but  in  the  art  of  getting 
for  himself  what  is  best  in  the  world  he  was  by  far  the 
more  accomplished  of  the  two.  He  fully  enjoyed  both 
the  physical  and  the  intellectual  life ;  he  could  live  al- 
most like  a  red  Indian,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  carry 
in  his  mind  the  most  recent  results  of  European  thought 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMTANISU.  307 

and  science.  His  distinguishing  characteristic  was  a 
heroic  contempt  for  comfort,  in  which  he  rather  re- 
sembled a  soldier  in  war-time  than  any  self-indulgent 
civilian.  He  would  sleep  anywhere, — in  his  boat  un- 
der a  sail,  in  a  hayloft,  under  a  hedge  if  belated,  and 
he  would  go  for  days  together  without  an}*  regular 
meal.  He  dressed  roughly,  and  his  clothes  became  old 
before  he  renewed  them.  He  kept  no  servant,  and 
lived  in  cheap  lodgings  in  towns,  or  hired  one  or  two 
empty  rooms  and  adorned  them  with  a  little  portable 
furniture.  In  the  country  he  contrived  to  make  very 
economical  arrangements  in  farmhouses,  by  which  he 
was  fed  and  lodged  quite  as  well  as  he  ever  cared  to 
be.  It  would  be  difficult  to  excel  him  in  simple  manli- 
ness, in  the  quiet  courage  that  accepts  a  disagreeable 
situation  or  faces  a  dangerous  one ;  and  he  had  the 
manliness  of  the  mind  as  well  as  that  of  the  body  ;  he 
estimated  the  world  for  what  it  is  worth,  and  cared 
nothing  for  its  transient  fashions  either  in  appearances 
or  opinion.  I  am  sorry  that  he  was  a  useless  member 
of  society,  — if,  indeed,  such  an  eccentric  is  to  be  called 
a  member  of  society  at  all,  —  but  if  uselessness  is  blam- 
able  he  shares  the  blame,  or  ought  in  justice  to  share 
it,  with  a  multitude  of  most  respectable  gentlemen  and 
ladies  who  receive  nothing  but  approbation  from  the 
world. 

Except  this  fault  of  uselessness  there  was  nothing  to 
blame  in  tins  man's  manner  of  life,  but  his  want  of  pur- 
pose and  discipline  made  his  fine  qoalities  seem  almost 
without  vnluo.  And  now  comos  the  question  whether 
the  fine  qualities  of  the  useless  Bohemian  may  not  be 


308  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

of  some  value  in  a  life  of  a  higher  kind.  I  think  it  is 
evident  that  they  may,  for  if  the  Bohemian  can  cheer- 
fully sacrifice  luxury  for  some  mental  gain  he  has  made 
a  great  step  in  the  direction  of  the  higher  life,  and  only 
requires  a  purpose  and  a  discipline  to  attain  it.  Com- 
mon men  are  completely  enslaved  by  their  love  of  com- 
fort, and  whoever  has  emancipated  himself  from  this 
thraldom  has  gained  the  first  and  most  necessar}r  vic- 
tor}'. The  use  that  he  will  make  of  it  depends  upon 
himself.  If  he  has  high  purposes,  his  Bohemianism 
will  be  ennobled  by  them,  and  will  become  a  most  pre- 
cious element  in  his  character ;  and  if  his  purposes  are 
not  of  the  highest,  the  Bohemian  element  may  still  be 
very  valuable  if  accompanied  by  self-discipline.  Na- 
poleon cannot  be  said  to  have  had  high  purposes,  but 
his  Bohemianism  was  admirable.  A  man  who,  having 
attained  success,  with  boundless  riches  at  his  disposal, 
could  quit  the  luxury  of  his  palaces  and  sleep  any- 
where, in  any  poor  farmhouse,  or  under  the  stars  by 
the  fire  of  a  bivouac,  and  be  satisfied  with  poor  meals 
at  the  most  irregular  hours,  showed  that,  however  he 
may  have  estimated  luxury,  he  was  at  least  entirely 
independent  of  it.  The  model  monarch  in  this  respect 
was  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden,  who  studied  his  own  per- 
sonal comfort  as  little  as  if  he  had  been  a  private  soldier. 
Some  royal  commanders  have  carried  luxury  into  war 
itself,  but  not  to  their  advantage.  When  Napoleon  III. 
went  in  his  carriage  to  meet  his  fate  at  Sedan  the  roads 
were  so  encumbered  by  wagons  belonging  to  the  Im- 
perial household  as  to  impede  the  movements  of  the 
troops. 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM,  309 

There  is  often  an  element  of  Bohemianism  where  we 
should  least  expect  to  find  it.  There  is  something  of 
it  in  our  English  aristocracy,  though  it  is  not  called 
Bohemianism  here  because  it  is  not  accompanied  by 
poverty ;  but  the  spirit  that  sacrifices  luxury  to  rough 
travelling  is,  so  far,  the  true  Bohemian  spirit.  In  the 
aristocracy,  however,  such  sacrifices  are  only  tempo- 
rary ;  and  a  rough  life  accepted  for  a  few  weeks  or 
months  gives  the  charm  of  a  restored  freshness  _to 
luxury  on  returning  to  it.  The  class  in  which  the 
higher  Bohemianism  has  most  steadily  flourished  is 
the  artistic  and  literary  class,  and  here  it  is  visible 
and  recognizable  because  there  is  often  poverty  enough 
to  compel  the  choice  between  the  objects  of  the  in- 
telligent Bohemian  and  those  of  ordinary  men.  The 
early  life  of  Goldsmith,  for  example,  was  that  of  a 
genuine  Bohemian.  He  had  scarcely  any  money, 
and  yet  he  contrived  to  get  for  himself  what  the 
intelligent  Bohemian  always  desires,  namely,  leisure 
to  read  and  think,  travel,  and  interesting  conversation. 
^  la  11  penniless  and  unknown  he  lounged  about  the 
world  thinking  and  observing ;  he  travelled  in  Holland, 
France,  Switzerland,  and  Italy,  not  as  people  do  in 
railway  carriages,  but  in  leisurely  intercourse  with  the 
inhabitants.  Notwithstanding  his  poverty  he  was  re- 
ceived by  the  learned  in  different  European  cities,  and, 
notably,  heard  Voltaire  and  Diderot  talk  till  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  So  long  as  he  remained  faithful 
to  the  true  principles  of  Bohemianism  he  was  happy 
in  his  own  strange  and  eccentric  way,  and  all  the 
anxieties,  ah1  the  slavery  of  his  later  years  were  due 


310  THE  NOBLE  BOHEM1ANISM. 

to  his  apostasy  from  those  principles.  He  no  longer 
estimated  leisure  at  its  true  value  when  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  placed  in  such  a  situation  that  he  was  com- 
pelled to  toil  like  a  slave  in  order  to  clear  off  work  that 
had  been  already  paid  for,  such  advances  having  been 
rendered  necessary  by  expenditure  on  Philistine  luxu- 
ries. He  no  longer  enjoyed  humble  travel  •  but  on  his 
later  tour  in  France  with  Mrs.  Horneck  and  her  two 
beautiful  daughters,  instead  of  enjoying  the  country  in 
his  own  old  simple  innocent  way,  he  allowed  his  mind 
to  be  poisoned  with  Philistine  ideas,  and  constantly 
complained  of  the  want  of  physical  comfort,  though 
he  lived  far  more  expensively  than  in  his  }'outh.  The 
new  apartments,  taken  on  the  success  of  the  "Good- 
natured  Man,"  consisted,  says  Irving,  u  of  three  rooms, 
which  he  furnished  with  mahogany  sofas,  card- tables, 
and  bookcases ;  with  curtains,  mirrors,  and  Wilton 
carpets."  At  the  same  time  he  went  even  beyond  the 
precept  of  Polonius,  for  his  garments  were  costlier 
than  his  purse  could  buy,  and  his  entertainments  were 
so  extravagant  as  to  give  pain  to  his  acquaintances. 
All  this  is  a  desertion  of  real  Bohemian  principles. 
Goldsmith  ought  to  have  protected  his  own  leisure, 
which,  from  the  Bohemian  point  of  view,  was  incompara- 
bly more  precious  to  himself  than  Wilton  carpets  and 
coats  "of  Tyrian  bloom." 

Corot,  the  French  landscape-painter,  was  a  model 
of  consistent  Bohemianism  of  the  best  kind.  When 
his  father  said,  "  You  shall  have  £80  a  }'ear,  your 
plate  at  my  table,  and  be  a  painter ;  or  you  shall  have 
£4,000  to  start  with  if  you  will  be  a  shop-keeper,"  his 


THE  NOBLE  BOHEAflANJXM  311 

choice  was  made  at  once.  He  remained  always  faith- 
ful to  true  Bohemian  principles,  fully  understanding 
the  value  of  leisure,  and  protecting  his  artistic  im Im- 
pendence by  the  extreme  simplicity  of  his  living.  He 
never  gave  way  to  the  modern  rage  for  luxuries,  but 
in  his  latter  years,  when  enriched  by  tardy  professional 
success  and  hereditary  fortune,  he  employed  his  money 
in  acts  of  fraternal  generosity  to  enable  others  to  lead 
the  intelligent  Bohemian  life. 

Wordsworth  had  in  him  a  very  strong  element  of 
Bohemianism.  His  long  pedestrian  rambles,  his  inter- 
est in  humble  life  and  familiar  intercourse  with  the 
poor,  his  passion  for  wild  nature,  and  preference  of 
natural  beauty  to  fine  society,  his  simple  and  economi- 
cal habits,  are  enough  to  reveal  the  tendency.  His 
"  plain  living  and  high  thinking  "  is  a  thoroughly  Bohe- 
mian idea,  in  striking  opposition  to  the  Philistine  pas- 
sion for  rich  living  and  low  thinking.  There  is  a  story 
that  he  was  seen  at  a  breakfast-table  to  cut  open  a 
new  volume  with  a  greasy  butter-knife.  To  every  lover 
of  books  this  must  seem  horribly  barbarous,  yet  at  the 
same  time  it  was  Bohemian,  in  that  Wordsworth  valued 
the  thought  only  and  cared  nothing  for  the  material 
condition  of  the  volume.  I  have  observed  a  like  in- 
difference to  the  material  condition  of  books  in  other 
Bohemians,  who  took  the  most  lively  interest  in  their 
contents.  I  have  also  seen  "bibliophiles"  who  had 
beautiful  libraries  in  excellent  preservation,  and  who 
loved  to  fondle  fine  copies  of  books  that  they  never 
read.  That  is  Philistine,  it  is  the  preference  of  mate- 
rial perfection  to  intellectual  values. 


312  THE  NOBLE  BOHEMIANISM. 

The  reader  is,  I  hope,  fully  persuaded  by  this  time 
that  the  higher  Bohemianism  is  compatible  with  every 
quality  that  deserves  respect,  and  that  it  is  not  of  ne- 
cessity connected  with  any  fault  or  failing.  I  may 
therefore  mention  as  an  example  of  it  one  of  the  purest 
and  best  characters  whom  it  was  ever  my  happiness  to 
know.  There  was  a  strong  element  of  noble  Bohe- 
mianism in  Samuel  Palmer,  the  landscape-painter. 
"  From  time  to  time,"  according  to  his  son,  "  he  for- 
sook his  easel,  and  travelled  far  away  from  London 
smoke  to  cull  the  beauties  of  some  favorite  country 
side.  His  painting  apparatus  was  complete,  but  singu- 
larly simple,  his  dress  and  other  bodily  requirements 
simpler  still ;  so  he  could  walk  from  village  to  hamlet 
easily  carrying  all  he  wanted,  and  utterly  indifferent 
to  luxury.  With  a  good  constitution  it  mattered  little 
to  him  how  humble  were  his  quarters  or  how  remote 
from  so-called  civilization.  '  In  exploring  wild  coun- 
try,' he  writes,  '  I  have  been  for  a  fortnight  together, 
uncertain  each  day  whether  I  should  get  a  bed  under 
cover  at  night ;  and  about  midsummer  I  have  repeat- 
edly been  walking  all  night  to  watch  the  mystic  phenom- 
ena of  the  silent  hours/  He  enjoyed  to  the  full  this 
rough  but  not  uncomfortable  mode  of  travelling,  and 
was  better  pleased  to  take  his  place,  after  a  hard  day's 
work,  in  some  old  chimney  corner — joining  on  equal 
terms  the  village  gossip — than  to  mope  in  the  dull 
grandeur  of  a  private  room." 

Here  are  two  of  my  Bohemian  elements,  —  the  love  of 
travel  and  the  love  of  conversation.  As  for  the  other 
element,  —  the  love  of  leisure  to  think  and  read,  —  it 


THE  NOBLE  BOUEMIANISM.  813 

is  not  visible  in  this  extract  (though  the  kind  of  travel 
described  is  leisurely),  but  it  was  always  present  in  the 
man.  During  the  quiet,  solitary  progress  by  day  and 
night  there  were  ample  opportunities  for  thinking, 
and  as  for  reading  we  know  that  Palmer  never  stirred 
without  a  favorite  author  in  his  pocket,  most  frequently 
Milton  or  Virgil.  To  complete  the  Bohemian  we  only 
require  one  other  characteristic,  —  contentment  with  a 
simple  material  existence;  and  we  are  told  that  "the 
painting  apparatus  was  singularly  simple,  the  dress  and 
other  bodily  requirements  simpler  still."  So  here  we 
have  the  intelligent  Bohemian  in  his  perfection. 

All  this  is  the  exact  opposite  of  Philistine  "  common 
sense."  A  Philistine  would  not  have  exposed  himself, 
voluntarily,  to  the  certainty  of  poor  accommodation. 
A  Philistine  would  not  have  remained  out  all  night  4  *  to 
watch  the  mystic  phenomena  of  the  silent  hours."  In 
the  absence  of  a  railway  he  would  have  hired  a  carriage, 
and  got  through  the  wild  country  rapidly  to  arrive  at 
a  good  dinner.  Lastly,  a  Philistine  would  not  have 
carried  either  Milton  or  Virgil  in  his  pocket ;  he  would 
have  had  a  newspaper. 

Some  practical  experience  of  the  higher  Bohemianism 
is  a  valuable  part  of  education.  It  enables  us  to  esti- 
mate things  at  their  true  worth,  and  to  extract  happiness 
from  situations  in  which  the  Philistine  is  both  dull  and 
miserable.  A  true  Bohemian,  of  the  best  kind,  knows 
the  value  of  mere  shelter,  of  food  enough  to  satisfy 
hunger,  of  plain  clothes  that  will  keep  him  sufficiently 
warm ;  and  in  the  things  of  the  mind  he  values  the 
liberty  to  use  his  own  faculties  as  a  kind  of  happiness 


314  THE  NOBLE  BOUEMIANISM. 

in  itself.  His  philosophy  leads  him  to  take  an  interest 
in  talking  with  human  beings  of  all  sorts  and  conditions, 
and  in  different  countries.  He  does  not  despise  the 
poor,  for,  whether  poor  or  rich  in  his  own  person,  he 
understands  simplicity  of  life,  and  if  the  poor  man  lives 
in  a  small  cottage,  he,  too,  has  probably  been  lodged 
less  spaciously  still  in  some  small  hut  or  tent.  He  has 
lived  often,  in  rough  travel,  as  the  poor  live  every  day. 
I  maintain  that  such  tastes  and  experiences  are  val- 
uable both  in  prosperity  and  in  adversity.  If  we  are 
prosperous  they  enhance  our  appreciation  of  the  things 
around  us,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  make  us  really 
know  that  they  are  not  indispensable,  as  so  many  be- 
lieve them  to  be  ;  if  we  fall  into  adversity  they  prepare 
us  to  accept  lightly  and  cheerfully  what  would  be  de- 
pressing privations  to  others.  I  know  a  painter  who 
in  consequence  of  some  change  in  the  public  taste  fell 
into  adversity  at  a  time  when  he  had  every  reason  to 
hope  for  increased  success.  Very  fortunately  for  him, 
he  had  been  a  Bohemian  in  early  life,  —  a  respectable 
Bohemian,  be  it  understood,  —  and  a  great  traveller,  so 
that  he  could  easily  dispense  with  luxuries.  "  To  be 
still  permitted  to  follow  art  is  enough,"  he  said ;  so  he 
reduced  his  expenses  to  the  very  lowest  scale  consistent 
with  that  pursuit,  and  lived  as  he  had  done  before  in 
the  old  Bohemian  times.  He  made  his  old  clothes  last 
on,  he  slung  a  hammock  in  a  very  simple  painting-room, 
and  cooked  his  own  dinner  on  the  stove.  With  the 
canvas  on  his  easel  and  a  few  books  on  a  shelf  he  found 
that  if  existence  was  no  longer  luxurious  it  had  not  yet 
ceased  to  be  interesting. 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          31  f> 


ESSAY  XXII. 

OF  COURTESY  IN  EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

'nnilE  universal  principle  of  courtesy  is  that  the  cour- 
•*"  teous  person  manifests  a  disposition  to  sacrifice 
something  in  favor  of  the  person  whom  he  desires  to 
honor ;  the  opposite  principle  shows  itself  in  a  disposi- 
tion to  regard  our  own  convenience  as  paramount  over 
every  other  consideration. 

Courtesy  lives  by  a  multitude  of  little  sacrifices,  not 
b}'  sacrifices  of  sufficient  importance  to  impose  any 
burdensome  sense  of  obligation.  These  little  sacrifices 
may  be  both  of  time  and  money,  but  more  of  time,  and 
the  money  sacrifice  should  be  just  perceptible,  never 
ostentatious. 

The  tendency  of  a  hurried  age,  in  which  men  under- 
take more  work  or  more  pleasure  (hardest  work  of  all !) 
than  they  are  able  properly  to  accomplish,  is  to  abridge 
all  forms  of  courtesy  because  they  take  time,  and  to 
replace  them  by  forms,  if  any  forms  survive,  which  cost 
as  little  time  as  possible.  This  wounds  and  injures 
courtesy  itself  in  its  most  vital  part,  for  the  essence  of 
it  is  the  willingness  to  incur  that  very  sacrifice  which 
modern  hurry  avoids. 

The  first  courtesy  in  epistolary  communication  is  the 
mere  writing  of  the  letter.  Except  in  cases  where  the 
letter  itself  is  an  offence  or  an  intrusion,  the  mere 


316          EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

making  of  it  is  an  act  of  courtesy  towards  the  receiver. 
The  writer  sacrifices  his  time  and  a  trifle  of  money  in 
order  that  the  receiver  may  have  some  kind  of  news. 

It  has  ever  been  the  custom  to  commence  a  letter 
with  some  expression  of  respect,  affection,  or  goodwill. 
This  is  graceful  in  itself,  and  reasonable,  being  nothing 
more  than  the  salutation  with  which  a  man  enters  the 
house  of  his  friend,  or  his  more  ceremonious  act  of 
deference  in  entering  that  of  a  stranger  or  a  superior. 
In  times  and  seasons  where  courtesy  has  not  given  way 
to  hurry,  or  a  selfish  dread  of  unnecessary  exertion,  the 
opening  form  is  maintained  with  a  certain  amplitude, 
and  the  substance  of  the  letter  is  not  reached  in  the  first 
lines,  which  gently  induce  the  reader  to  proceed.  After- 
wards these  forms  are  felt  to  involve  an  inconvenient 
sacrifice  of  time,  and  are  ruthlessly  docked. 

In  justice  to  modern  poverty  in  forms  it  is  fair  to  take 
into  consideration  the  simple  truth,  so  easily  overlooked, 
that  we  have  to  write  thirty  letters  where  our  ancestors 
wrote  one ;  but  the  principle  of  sacrifice  in  courtesy 
always  remains  essentially  the  same ;  and  if  of  our 
more  precious  and  more  occupied  time  we  consecrate  a 
smaller  portion  to  forms,  it  is  still  essential  that  there 
should  be  no  appearance  of  a  desire  to  escape  from  the 
kind  of  obligation  which  we  acknowledge. 

The  most  essentially  modern  element  of  courtesy  in 
letter- writing  is  the  promptitude  of  our  replies.  This 
promptitude  was  not  only  unknown  to  our  remote  ances- 
tors, but  even  to  our  immediate  predecessors.  They 
would  postpone  answering  a  letter  for  days  or  weeks, 
in  the  pure  spirit  of  procrastination,  when  they  already 


/  riSTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          317 

possessed  all  the  materials  necessary  for  the  answer. 
Such  a  habit  would  try  our  patience  very  severely,  but 
our  fathers  seem  to  have  considered  it  a  part  of  their 
dignity  to  move  slowly  in  correspondence.  This  tem- 
per even  yet  survives  in  official  correspondence  be- 
tween sovereigns,  who  still  notify  to  each  other  tin  ir 
domestic  events  long  after  the  publication  of  them  in 
the  newspapers. 

A  prompt  answer  equally  serves  the  purpose  of  the 
sender  and  the  receiver.  It  is  a  great  economy  of  time 
to  answer  promptly,  because  the  receiver  of  the  letter  is 
so  much  gratified  by  the  promptitude  itself  that  he 
readily  pardons  brevity  in  consideration  of  it  An 
extremely  short  but  prompt  letter,  that  would  look  curt 
without  its  promptitude,  is  more  polite  than  a  much 
longer  one  written  a  few  da}*s  later. 

Prompt  correspondents  save  all  the  time  that  others 
waste  in  excuses.  I  remember  an  author  and  editor 
whose  system  imposed  upon  him  the  tax  of  perpetual 
apologizing.  He  always  postponed  writing  until  the 
delay  had  put  his  correspondent  out  of  temper,  so  that 
when  at  last  he  ///'/  write,  which  somehow  happened 
ultimately,  the  first  page  was  entirely  occupied  with 
apologies  for  his  delay,  as  he  felt  that  the  necessity  had 
arisen  for  soothing  the  ruffled  feelings  of  his  friend. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  same  amount  of  pen 
work  which  these  apologies  cost  him  would,  if  given 
earlier,  have  sufficed  for  a  complete  answer.  A  letter- 
writer  of  this  sort  must  naturally  be  a  bad  man  of  busi- 
ness, and  this  gentleman  was  so.  though  he  had  excel Irnt 
qualities  of  another  order. 


318          EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

I  remember  receiving  a  most  extraordinary  answer 
from  a  correspondent  of  this  stamp.  I  wrote  to  him 
about  a  matter  which  was  causing  me  some  anxiety,  and 
did  not  receive  an  answer  for  several  weeks.  At  last 
the  reply  came,  with  the  strange  excuse  that  as  he  knew 
1  had  guests  in  my  house  he  had  delayed  writing  from 
a  belief  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  attend  to  anything 
until  after  their  departure.  If  such  were  always  the 
effect  of  entertaining  friends,  what  incalculable  pertur- 
bation would  be  caused  by  hospitality  in  all  private  and 
public  affairs ! 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  have  met  with  a  collection 
of  letters  called  the  "  Plumpton  Correspondence,"  which 
was  published  by  the  Camden  Society  in  1839.  I  have 
always  been  interested  in  this  for  family  reasons,  and 
also  because  the  manuscript  volume  was  found  in  the 
neighborhood  where  I  lived  in  3'outh ;  *  but  it  does 
not  require  any  blood  connection  with  the  now  extinct 
house  of  Plumpton  of  Plumpton  to  take  an  interest  in 
a  collection  of  letters  which  gives  so  clear  an  insight 
into  the  epistolary  customs  of  England  in  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries.  The  first  peculiarity-  that 
strikes  the  modern  reader  is  the  extreme  care  of  almost 
all  the  writers,  even  when  near  relations,  to  avoid  a 
curt  and  dry  style,  destitute  of  the  ambages  which  were 
in  those  days  esteemed  an  essential  part  of  politeness. 
The  only  exception  is  a  plain,  straightforward  gentleman, 
William  Gascoyne,  who  heads  his  letters,  "To  my 
Uncle  Plumpton  be  these  delivered,"  or  "  To  my  Uncle 
Plumpton  this  letter  be  delivered  in  hast."  He  begins, 
1  In  the  library  at  Towneley  Hall  in  Lancashire. 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.         319 

"  Uncle  Plumpton,  I  recommend  me  unto  you,"  and 
finishes,  "  Your  nephew,"  simply,  or  still  more  laconi- 
cally, "  Your."  Such  plainness  is  strikingly  rare.  The 
rule  was,  to  be  deliberately  perfect  in  all  epistolary 
observances,  however  near  the  relationship.  Not  that 
the  forms  used  were  hard  forms,  entirely  fixed  by  usage 
and  devoid  of  personal  feeling  and  individuality.  They 
appear  to  have  been  more  flexible  and  living  than  our 
own,  as  they  were  more  frequently  varied  according  to 
the  taste  and  sentiment  of  the  writers.  Sometimes,  of 
course,  they  were  perfunctory,  but  often  they  have  an 
original  and  very  graceful  turn.  One  letter,  which  I 
will  quote  at  length,  contains  curious  evidence  of  the 
courtesy  and  discourtesy  of  those  days.  The  forms 
iiM-d  in  the  letter  itself  are  perfect,  but  the  writer  com- 
plains that  other  letters  have  not  been  answered. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  Sir  Robert  Plumpton  had 
a  daughter,  Dorothy,  who  was  in  the  household  of  Lady 
Darcy  (probably  as  a  sort  of  maid  of  honor  to  her  lady- 
ship), but  was  not  quite  pleased  with  her  position,  and 
wanted  to  go  home  to  Plumpton.  She  had  written  to 
her  father  several  times,  but  had  received  no  answer, 
so  she  now  writes  again  to  him  in  these  terms.  The 
date  of  the  letter  is  not  fully  given,  as  the  year  is  want- 
ing ;  but  her  parents  were  married  in  1477,  and  her  father 
died  in  1.523,  at  the  age  of  seventy,  after  a  life  of  strange 
vicissitudes.  The  reader  will  observe  two  leading  char- 
acteristics in  this  letter, — that  it  is  as  courteous  as  if 
the  writer  were  not  related  to  the  receiver,  and  as 
affectionate  as  if  no  forms  had  been  observed.  As 
was  the  custom  in  those  days,  the  young  lady  gives  her 


320          EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

parents  their  titles  of  worldly  honor,  but  she  always 
adds  to  them  the  most  affectionate  filial  expressions  : 

To  the  right  worshipfull  and  my  most  entyerly  beloved,  good, 
kind  father,  Sir  Robart  Plomplon,  knyght,  lying  at  Plompton  in 
Yorkshire,  be  thes  delivered  in  hast. 

Ryght  worshipfull  father,  in  the  most  humble  manner 
that  I  can  1  recommend  me  to  you,  and  to  my  lady  my  mother, 
and  to  all  ray  brethren  and  sistren,  whom  I  besech  almyghtie 
God  to  mayntayne  and  preserve  in  prosperus  health  and 
encrese  of  worship,  entyerly  requiering  you  of  your  daly 
blessing;  letting  you  wyt  that  I  send  to  you  mesuage,  be 
Wryghame  of  Knarsbrugh,  of  niy  mynd,  and  how  that  he 
should  desire  you  in  my  name  to  send  for  me  to  come  home 
to  you,  and  as  yet  T  had  no  answere  agane,  the  which  desire 
my  lady  hath  gotten  knowledg.  Wherefore,  she  is  to  me 
more  better  lady  than  ever  she  was  before,  insomuch  that 
she  hath  promysed  me  hir  good  ladyship  as  long  as  ever  she 
shall  lyve;  and  if  she  or  ye  can  fynd  athing  meyter  for  me 
in  this  parties  or  any  other,  she  will  helpe  to  promoote  me  to 
the  uttermost  of  her  puyssaunce.  Wherefore,  I  humbly 
besech  you  to  be  so  good  and  kind  father  unto  me  as  to  let 
me  know  your  pleasure,  how  that  ye  will  have  me  ordred,  as 
shortly  as  it  shall  like  you.  And  wryt  to  my  lady,  thanking 
hir  good  ladyship  of  hir  so  loving  and  tender  kyndnesse 
shewed  unto  me,  beseching  hir  ladyship  of  good  contynewance 
thereof.  And  therefore  I  besech  you  to  send  a  servant  of  yours 
to  my  lady  and  to  me,  and  show  now  by  your  fatherly  kynd- 
nesse that  I  am  your  child;  for  I  have  sent  you  dyverse 
messuages  and  wryttings,  and  I  had  never  answere  againe. 
Wherefore  yt  is  thought  in  this  parties,  by  those  persones 
that  list  better  to  say  ill  than  good,  that  ye  have  litle  favor 
unto  me  ;  the  which  error  ye  may  now  quench  yf  yt  will  like 
you  to  be  so  good  and  kynd  father  unto  me.  Also  I  besech 
you  to  send  me  a  fine  hatt  and  some  good  cloth  to  make  me 
some  kevercheffes.  And  thus  I  besech  Jesu  to  have  you  in 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          321 

his  blessed  keeping  to  his  pleasure,  and  your  harts  desire  and 
comforth.     Wry  ten  at  the  Ilirste,  the  xviii  day  of  Maye. 
By  your  loving  daughter, 

DORYTHE  PLOMPTON. 

It  may  be  worth  while,  for  the  sake  of  contrast,  and 
that  we  may  the  better  perceive  the  lost  fragrance  of  the 
antique  courtesy,  to  put  the  substance  of  this  letter  into 
the  style  of  the  present  day.  A  modern  young  lady 
would  probably  write  as  follows  :  — 

HIRST,  May  18. 

DEAR  PAPA,  —  Lady  Darcy  has  found  out  that  I  want  to 
leave  her,  but  she  has  kindly  promised  to  do  what  she  can  to 
find  something  else  for  me.  I  wish  you  would  say  what  you 
think,  and  it  would  be  as  well,  perhaps,  if  you  would  be  so 
good  as  to  drop  a  line  to  her  ladyship  to  thank  her.  I  have 
written  to  you  several  times,  but  got  no  answer,  so  people 
here  say  that  you  don't  care  very  much  for  me.  Would  you 
please  send  me  a  handsome  bonnet  and  some  handkerchiefs? 
Best  love  to  mamma  and  all  at  home. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

DOROTHY  PLUMPTON. 

This,  I  think,  is  not  an  unfair  specimen  of  a  modern 
letter.1  The  expressions  of  worship,  of  humble  respect, 
have  disappeared,  and  so  far  it  may  be  thought  that 
there  is  improvement,  yet  that  respect  was  not  incom- 
patible with  tender  feeling ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
closely  associated  with  it,  and  expressions  of  sentiment 

1  In  Prosper  Mcrimee's  "  Correspondence  "  he  gives  the  following 
as  the  authentic  text  of  the  letter  in  which  Lady  Florence  Paget 
announced  her  elopement  with  the  last  Marquis  of  Hastings  to  her 
father :  — 

"Dear  Pa,  as  I  knew  you  would  never  consent  to  my  marriage  with 
Lord  Hastings,  I  was  wedded  to  him  to-day.    I  remain  yours,  etc." 
21 


322  EPISTOLARY   COMMUNICATION. 

have  lost  strength  and  vitality  along  with  expressions 
of  respect.  Tenderness  may  be  sometimes  shown  in 
modern  letters,  but  it  is  rare  ;  and  when  it  occurs  it  is 
generally  accompanied  by  a  degree  of  familiarity  which 
our  ancestors  would  have  considered  in  bad  taste.  Dor- 
othy  Plumpton's  own  letter  is  far  richer  in  the  expres- 
sion of  tender  feeling  than  any  modern  letter  of  the 
courteous  and  ceremonious  kind,  or  than  any  of  those 
pale  and  commonplace  communications  from  which  deep 
respect  and  strong  affection  are  almost  equally  excluded. 
Please  observe,  moreover,  that  the  young  lady  had  rea- 
son to  be  dissatisfied  with  her  father  for  his  neglect, 
which  does  not  in  the  least  diminish  the  filial  courtesy 
of  her  st3*le,  but  she  chides  him  in  the  sweetest  fashion, 
—  "  Show  now  by  your  fatherly  kindness  that  I  am 
your  child"  Could  airything  be  prettier  than  that, 
though  the  reproach  contained  in  it  is  really  one  of 
some  severity? 

Dorothy's  father,  Sir  Robert,  puts  the  following  super- 
scription on  a  letter  to  his  wife,  "To  my  entyrely  and 
right  hartihT  beloved  wife,  Dame  Agnes  Plurnpton,  be 
this  Letter  delivered."  He  begins  his  letter  thus,  "  My 
deare  hart,  in  my  most  hartily  wyse,  I  recommend  mee 
unto  you  ;  "  and  he  ends  tenderly,  "  By  }rour  owne  lover, 
Robert  Plumpton,  Kt."  She,  on  the  contrary,  though 
a  faithful  and  brave  wife,  doing  her  best  for  her  hus- 
band in  a  time  of  great  trial,  and  enjoying  his  full 
confidence,  begins  her  letters,  "  Right  worshipful  Sir/* 
and  ends  simply,  "By  your  wife,  Dame  Agnes  Plump- 
ton."  She  is  so  much  absorbed  by  business  that  her 
expressions  of  feeling  are  rare  and  brief.  "  Sir,  I  am  in 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          323 

good  health,  and  all  }*onr  children  prays  for  your  daly 
blessing.  And  all  }*our  servants  is  in  good  health  and 
praj's  diligentl}'  for  3*our  good  speed  in  your  matters." 

The  generally  courteous  tone  of  the  letters  of  those 
days  may  be  judged  of  by  the  following  example.  The 
reader  will  observe  how  small  a  space  is  occupied  with 
the  substance  of  the  letter  in  comparison  with  the  ex- 
pressions of  pure  courtesy,  and  how  simply  and  hand- 
somely regret  for  the  trespass  is  expressed :  — 

To  his  worshipful  Cosin,  Sir  Robart  Plompton,  Kt. 

Right  reverend  and  worshipful  Cosin,  I  commend  me 
unto  you  as  hertyly  as  I  can,  evermore  desiring  to  heare  of 
your  welfare,  the  which  I  besech  Jesu  to  continew  to  his 
pleasure,  and  your  herts  desire.  Cosin,  please  you  witt  that 
1  am  enformed,  that  a  poor  man  somtyme  belonging  to  mee, 
called  Umfrey  Bell,  hath  trespased  to  a  servant  of  youres, 
which  I  am  sory  for.  Wherefore,  Cosin,  I  desire  and  hartily 
pray  you  to  take  upp  the  matter  into  your  own  hands  for  my 
sake,  and  rewle  him  as  it  please  you;  and  therein  you  wil  do, 
as  I  may  do  that  may  be  plesur  to  you,  and  my  con  try,  the 
which  I  shalbe  redy  too,  by  the  grace  of  God,  who  preserve 

you. 

By  your  own  kynsman, 

ROBART  WARCOPP,  of  Warcoppe. 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  by  this  time  enough  of  these 
old  letters,  which  are  not  likely  to  possess  much  charm 
for  him  unless,  like  the  present  writer,  he  is  rather  of  an 
antiquarian  turn.1 

i  For  those  who  take  an  interest  in  such  matters  I  may  say  that 
the  last  representative  of  the  Plumptons  died  in  France  unmarried 
in  1749,  and  Plumpton  Hall  was  barbarously  pulled  down  by  its 
purchaser,  an  ancestor  of  the  present  Earls  of  Harewood.  The 


324          EPISTOLARY   COMMUNICATION. 

The  quotations  are  enough  to  show  some  of  the  forms 
used  in  correspondence  by  our  forefathers,  forms  that 
were  right  in  their  own  day,  when  the  state  of  society 
was  more  ceremonious  and  deferential,  but  no  one  would 
propose  to  revive  them.  We  ma}',  however,  still  value 
and  cultivate  the  beautifully  courteous  spirit  that  our 
ancestors  possessed  and  express  it  in  our  own  modern 
ways. 

I  have  already  observed  that  the  essentially  modern 
form  of  courtesy  is  the  rapidity  of  our  replies.  This, 
at  least,  is  a  virtue  that  we  can  resolutely  cultivate  and 
maintain.  In  some  countries  it  is  pushed  so  far  that 
telegrams  are  very  frequently  sent  when  there  is  no  need 
to  emplo}7  the  telegraph.  The  Arabs  of  Algeria  are  ex- 
tremely fond  of  telegraphing  for  its  own  sake  :  the  notion 
of  its  rapidity  pleases  and  amuses  them  ;  they  like  to 
wield  a  power  so  wonderful.  It  is  said  that  the  Ameri- 
cans constantly  employ  the  telegraph  on  very  trivial 
occasions,  and  the  habit  is  increasing  in  England  and 
France.  The  secret  desire  of  the  present  age  is  to  find 
a  plausible  excuse  for  excessive  brevity  in  correspond- 
ence, and  this  is  supplied  by  the  comparative  costliness 
of  telegraphing.  It  is  a  comfort  that  it  allows  you  to 
send  a  single  word.  I  have  heard  of  a  letter  from  a 
son  to  a  father  consisting  of  the  Latin  word  Tbo,  and 
of  a  still  briefer  one  from  the  father  to  the  son  con- 
fined entirely  to  the  imperative  I.  These  miracles  of 
brevity  are  only  possible  in  letters  between  the  most 

history  of  the  family  is  very  interesting,  and  the  more  so  to  me 
that  it  twice  intermarried  with  my  own.  Dorothy  Plumpton  was 
a  niece  of  the  first  Sir  Stephen  Hamerton. 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          325 

intimate  friends  or  relations,  but  in  telegraphy  they  are 
common. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  courtesy  to  survive  this  modern 
passion  for  brevity,  and  we  see  it  more  and  more 
openl}'  cast  aside.  All  the  long  phrases  of  politeness 
have  been  abandoned  in  English  correspondence  for  a 
generation,  except  in  formal  letters  to  official  or  very 
dignified  personages ;  and  the  little  that  remains  is  re- 
duced to  a  mere  shred  of  courteous  or  affectionate  ex- 
pression. We  have  not,  it  is  true,  the  detestable  habit 
of  abridging  words,  as  our  ancestors  often  did,  but  we 
cut  our  phrases  short,  and  sometimes  even  words  of 
courtesy  are  abridged  in  an  unbecoming  manner.  Men 
will  write  Dr-  Sir  for  Dear  Sir.  If  I  am  dear  enough  to 
these  correspondents  for  their  sentiments  of  affection  to 
be  worth  uttering  at  all,  why  should  they  be  so  chary 
of  expressing  them  that  they  omit  two  letters  from  the 
very  word  which  is  intended  to  affect  my  feelings  ? 

"If  I  be  dear,  if  I  be  dear," 

as  the  poet  says,  why  should  my  correspondent  be- 
grudge me  the  four  letters  of  so  brief  an  adjective  ? 

The  long  French  and  Italian  forms  of  ceremony  at 
the  close  of  letters  are  felt  to  be  burdensome  in  the 
present  day,  and  are  gradually  giving  place  to  briefer 
ones ;  but  it  is  the  very  length  of  them,  and  the  time 
and  trouble  they  cost  to  write,  that  make  them  so  cour- 
teous, and  no  brief  form  can  ever  be  an  effective  sub- 
stitute in  that  respect. 

I  was  once  placed  in  the  rather  embarrassing  posi- 
tion of  having  suddenly  to  send  telegrams  in  my  own 


326          EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

name,  containing  a  request,  to  two  high  foreign  author- 
ities in  a  corps  where  punctilious  ceremony  is  very 
strictly  observed.  My  solution  of  the  difficulty  was 
to  write  two  full  ceremonious  letters,  with  all  the  formal 
expressions  unabridged,  and  then  have  these  letters 
telegraphed  in  extenso.  This  was  the  only  possible 
solution,  as  an  ordinary  telegram  would  have  been  en- 
tirely out  of  the  question.  It  being  rather  expensive 
to  telegraph  a  very  formal  letter,  the  cost  added  to  the 
appearance  of  deference,  so  I  had  the  curious  but  very 
real  advantage  on  my  side  that  I  made  a  telegram  seem 
even  more  deferential  than  a  letter. 

The  convenience  of  the  letter-writer  is  consulted  in 
inverse  ratio  to  the  appearances  of  courtesy.  In  the 
matter  of  sealing,  for  example,  that  seems  so  slight 
and  indifferent  a  concern,  a  question  of  ceremony  and 
courtesy  is  involved.  The  old-fashioned  custom  of  a 
large  seal  with  the  sender's  arms  or  cipher  added  to 
the  importance  of  the  contents  both  by  strictly  guard- 
ing the  privacy  of  the  communication  and  by  the  digni- 
fied assertion  of  the  writer's  rank.  Besides  this,  the 
time  that  it  costs  to  take  a  proper  impression  of  a  seal 
shows  the  absence  of  hurry  and  the  disposition  to  sacri- 
fice which  are  a  part  of  all  noble  courtesy ;  whilst 
the  act  of  rapidly  licking  the  gum  on  the  inside  of  an 
envelope  and  then  giving  it  a  thump  with  your  fist  to 
make  it  stick  is  neither  dignified  nor  elegant.  There 
were  certain  beautiful  associations  with  the  act  of  seal- 
ing. There  was  the  taper  that  had  to  be  lighted,  and 
that  had  its  own  little  candlestick  of  chased  or  gilded 
silver,  or  delicately  painted  porcelain ;  there  was  the 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.          327 

polished  and  graven  stone  of  the  seal,  itself  more  or 
less  precious,  and  enhanced  in  value  by  an  art  of  high 
antiquity  and  noble  associations,  and  this  graven  sig- 
net-stone was  set  in  massive  gold.  The  act  of  sealing 
was  deliberate,  to  secure  a  fair  impression,  and  as  the 
wax  caught  flame  and  melted  it  disengaged  a  delicate 
perfume.  These  little  things  may  be  laughed  at  by  a 
generation  of  practical  men  of  business  who  know  the 
value  of  every  second,  but  they  had  their  importance, 
and  have  it  still,  amongst  those  who  possess  an}'  deli- 
cacy of  perception.1  The  reader  will  remember  the 
sealing  of  Nelson's  letter  to  the  Crown  Prince  of  Den- 
mark during  the  battle  of  Copenhagen.  "A  wafer 
was  given  him,"  sa^ys  Southey,  *'  but  he  ordered  a  can- 
dle to  be  brought  from  the  cockpit,  and  sealed  the  let- 
ter with  wax,  affixing  a  larger  seal  than  he  ordinarily 
used.  4  This,'  said  he,  '  is  no  time  to  appear  hurried 
and  informal.' "  The  story  is  usually  told  as  a  strik- 
ing example  of  Nelson's  coolness  in  a  time  of  intense 

1  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  sympathy  enough  with  the  courtesy  of 
old  time  to  note  its  minutiae  very  closely  :  — 

"After  inspecting  the  cavalry,  Sir  Everard  again  conducted  his 
nephew  to  the  library,  where  he  produced  a  letter,  carefully  folded, 
surrounded  by  a  little  stripe  of  Jlox-silk,  according  to  ancient  form, 
and  sealed  with  an  accurate  impression  of  the  Waverley  coat-of-arms. 
It  was  addressed,  urith  great  formality,  '  To  Cosmo  Comyne  Bradwar- 
dine,  Esq.,  of  Bradwardine,  at  his  principal  mansion  of  Tully-Veolan, 
in  Perthshire,  North  Britain.  These  —  by  the  hands  of  Captain  Ed  wan! 
Waverley,  nephew  of  Sir  Everard  Waverley,  of  Waverley-Honour, 
Bart."  —  Waverley,  chtip.  vi. 

I  had  not  this  passage  in  mind  when  writing  the  text  of  this 
Essay,  but  the  reader  will  notice  how  closely  it  confirms  what  I 
have  said  about  deliberation  and  care  to  secure  a  fair  impression 
of  the  seal. 


328          EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

excitement,  but  it  might  be  told  with  equal  effect  as  a 
proof  of  his  knowledge  of  mankind  and  of  the  trifles 
which  have  a  powerful  effect  on  human  intercourse. 
The  preference  of  wax  to  a  wafer,  and  especially  the 
deliberate  choice  of  a  larger  seal  as  more  ceremonious 
and  important,  are  clear  evidence  of  diplomatic  skill. 
No  doubt,  too,  the  impression  of  Nelson's  arms  was 
very  careful  and  clear. 

In  writing  to  French  Ministers  of  State  it  is  a  tradi- 
tional custom  to  employ  a  certain  paper  called  ' '  papier 
ministre,"  which  is  very  much  larger  than  that  sent 
to  ordinary  mortals.  Paper  is  by  no  means  a  matter 
of  indifference.  It  is  the  material  costume  under 
which  we  present  ourselves  to  persons  removed  from 
us  by  distance  ;  and  as  a  man  pays  a  call  in  handsome 
clothes  as  a  sign  of  respect  to  others,  and  also  of  self- 
respect,  so  he  sends  a  piece  of  handsome  paper  to  be 
the  bearer  of  his  salutation.  Besides,  a  letter  is  in 
itself  a  gift,  though  a  small  one,  and  however  trifling 
a  gift  may  be  it  must  never  be  shabb}-.  The  English 
understand  this  art  of  choosing  good-looking  letter- 
paper,  and  are  remarkable  for  using  it  of  a  thickness 
rare  in  other  nations.  French  love  of  elegance  has  led 
to  charming  inventions  of  tint  and  texture,  particularly 
in  delicate  gray  tints,  and  these  papers  are  now  often 
decorated  with  embossed  initials  of  heraldic  devices  on 
a  large  scale,  but  that  is  carrying  prettiness  too  far. 
The  common  American  habit  of  writing  letters  on  ruled 
paper  is  not  to  be  recommended,  as  the  ruling  reminds 
us  of  copy-books  and  account-books,  and  has  a  me- 
chanical appearance  that  greatly  detracts  from  what 
ought  to  be  the  purely  personal  air  of  an  autograph. 


EPISTOLARY   COMMUNICATION.          329 

Modern  love  of  despatch  has  led  to  the  invention  of 
the  post-card,  which,  from  our  present  point  of  view, 
that  of  courtesy,  deserves  unhesitating  condemnation. 
To  use  a  post-card  is  as  much  as  to  say  to  your  corre- 
spondent, "In  order  to  save  for  myself  a  very  little 
money  and  a  very  little  time,  I  will  expose  the  subject 
of  our  correspondence  to  the  eyes  of  any  clerk,  post- 
man, or  servant,  who  feels  the  slightest  curiosity  about 
it ;  and  I  take  this  small  piece  of  card,  of  which  I  am 
allowed  to  use  one  side  onty,  in  order  to  relieve  myself 
from  the  obligation,  and  spare  myself  the  trouble,  of 
writing  a  letter."  To  make  the  convenience  absolutely 
perfect,  it  is  customary  in  England  to  omit  the  opening 
and  concluding  salutations  on  post-cards,  so  that  the}* 
are  the  ne  plus  ultra,  I  will  not  sa}*  of  positive  rudeness, 
but  of  that  negative  rudeness  which  is  not  exactly  the 
opposite  of  courtesy,  but  its  absence.  Here  again,  how- 
ever, comes  the  modern  principle  ;  and  promptitude  and 
frequenc}*  of  communication  ma}'  be  accepted  as  a  com- 
pensation for  the  sacrifice  of  formalit}'.  It  may  be 
argued,  and  with  reason,  that  when  a  man  of  our  own 
day  sends  a  post-card  his  ancestors  would  have  been 
still  more  laconic,  for  they  would  have  sent  nothing  at 
all,  and  that  there  are  a  thousand  circumstances  in 
which  a  post-card  may  be  written  when  it  is  not  possible 
to  write  a  letter.  A  husband  on  his  travels  has  a  supply 
of  such  cards  in  a  pocket-book.  With  these,  and  his 
pencil,  he  writes  a  line  once  or  twice  a  day  in  train 
or  steamboat,  or  at  table  between  two  dishes,  or  on 
the  windy  platform  of  a  railway  station,  or  in  the 
street  when  he  sees  a  letter-box.  He  sends  fifty  such 


330        EPISTOLARY   COMMUNICATION. 

communications  where  his  father  would  have  written 
three  letters,  and  his  grandfather  one  slowly  composed 
and  slowly  travelling  epistle. 

Many  modern  correspondents  appreciate  the  con- 
venience of  the  post-card,  but  their  conscience,  as  that 
of  well-bred  people,  cannot  get  over  the  fault  of  its  pub- 
licity. For  these  the  stationers  have  devised  several 
different  substitutes.  There  is  the  French  plan  of  what 
is  called  "  Un  Mot  a  la  Poste,"  a  piece  of  paper  with  a 
single  fold,  gummed  round  the  other  three  edges,  and 
perforated  like  postage-stamps  for  the  facility  of  the 
opener.1  There  is  the  miniature  sheet  of  paper  that 
you  have  not  to  fold,  and  there  is  the  card  that  3'ou 
enclose  in  an  envelope,  and  that  prepares  the  reader  for 
a  very  brief  communication.  Here,  again,  is  a  very 
curious  illustration  of  the  sacrificial  nature  of  courtesy. 
A  card  is  sent ;  why  a  card  ?  Why  not  a  piece  of  paper 
of  the  same  size  which  would  hold  as  many  words? 
The  answer  is  that  a  card  is  handsomer  and  more  costly, 
and  from  its  stiffness  a  little  easier  to  take  out  of  the 
envelope,  and  pleasanter  to  hold  whilst  reading,  so  that 
a  small  sacrifice  is  made  to  the  pleasure  and  convenience 
of  the  receiver,  which  is  the  essence  of  courtesy  in  letter- 
writing.  All  this  brief  correspondence  is  the  offspring 

1  A  very  odd  but  very  real  objection  to  the  employment  of 
these  missives  is  that  the  receiver  does  not  always  know  how  to 
open  them,  and  may  burn  them  unread.  I  remember  sending  a 
short  letter  in  this  shape  from  France  to  an  English  lady.  She 
destroyed  my  letter  without  opening  it ;  and  I  got  for  answer  that 
"  if  it  was  a  French  custom  to  send  blank  post-cards  she  did  not 
know  what  could  be  the  signification  of  it."  Such  was  the  result 
of  a  well-meant  attempt  to  avoid  the  non-courteous  post  card  ! 


EPISTOLARY   COMMUNICATION. 

of  the  electric  telegraph.  Our  forefathers  were  not  used 
to  it,  and  would  have  regarded  it  as  an  offence.  Even 
at  the  present  date  (1884)  it  is  not  quite  safe  to  write  in 
our  brief  modern  way  to  persons  who  caine  to  maturity 
before  the  electric  telegraph  was  in  use. 

There  is  a  wide  distinction  between  brevity  and  hurry  ; 
in  fact,  brevity,  if  of  the  intelligent  kind,  is  the  best  pre- 
servative against  hurry.  Some  men  write  short  letters, 
but  are  very  careful  to  observe  all  the  forms  ;  and  they 
have  the  great  advantage  that  the  apparent  importance 
of  the  formal  expressions  is  enhanced  by  the  shortness 
of  the  letter  itself.  This  is  the  case  in  Robert  Warcopp's 
letter  to  Sir  Robert  Plumpton. 

When  hurry  really  exists,  and  it  is  impossible  to  avoid 
the  appearance  of  it,  as  when  a  letter  cannot  be  brief, 
yet  must  be  written  at  utmost  speed,  the  proper  course 
is  to  apologize  for  hurry  at  the  beginning  and  not  at  the 
end  of  the  letter.  The  reader  is  then  propitiated  at 
once,  and  excuses  the  slovenly  penmanship  and  style. 

It  is  remarkable  that  legibility  of  handwriting  should 
never  have  been  considered  as  among  the  essentials  of 
courtesy  in  correspondence.  It  is  obviously  for  the 
convenience  of  the  reader  that  a  letter  should  be  easily 
read;  but  here  another  consideration  intervenes.  To 
write  very  legibly  is  the  accomplishment  of  clerks  and 
writing-masters,  who  are  usually  poor  men,  and,  as  such, 
do  not  hold  a  high  social  position.  Aristocratic  pride 
has  always  had  it  for  a  principle  to  disdain,  for  itself, 
the  accomplishments  of  professional  men  ;  and  therefore 
a  careless  scrawl  is  more  aristocratic  than  a  clean  hand- 
writing, if  the  scrawl  is  of  a  fashionable  kind.  Perhaps 


332        EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

the  historic  origin  of  this  feeling  may  be  the  scorn  of 
the  ignorant  mediaeval  baron  for  writing  of  all  kinds  as 
beneath  the  attention  of  a  warrior.  In  a  cultured  age 
there  may  be  a  reason  of  a  higher  order.  It  may  be 
supposed  that  attention  to  mechanical  excellence  is  in- 
compatible with  the  action  of  the  intellect ;  and  people 
are  curiously  ready  to  imagine  incompatibilities  where 
they  do  not  reall\T  exist.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  some  men 
of  eminent  intellectual  gifts  write  with  as  exquisite  a 
clearness  in  the  formation  of  their  letters  as  in  the  eluci- 
dation of  their  ideas.  It  is  easily  forgotten,  too,  that 
the  same  person  may  use  different  kinds  of  handwriting, 
according  to  circumstances,  like  the  gentleman  whose 
best  hand  some  people  could  read,  whose  middling  hand 
the  writer  himself  could  read,  and  whose  worst  neither 
he  nor  any  other  human  being  could  decipher.  Le- 
gouve,  in  his  exquisite  way,  tells  a  charming  story  of 
how  he  astonished  a  little  girl  by  excelling  her  in  callig- 
raphy. His  scribble  is  all  but  illegible,  and  she  was 
laughing  at  it  one  day,  when  he  boldly  challenged  her  to 
a  trial.  Both  sat  down  and  formed  their  letters  with 
great  patience,  as  in  a  writing  class,  and  it  turned  out, 
to  the  girl's  amazement,  that  the  scribbling  Academician 
had  by  far  the  more  copperplate-like  hand  of  the  two. 
He  then  explained  that  his  bad  writing  was  simply  the 
result  of  speed.  Frenchmen  provokingly  reserve  their 
very  worst  and  most  illegible  writing  for  the  signature. 
You  are  able  to  read  the  letter  but  not  the  signature, 
and  if  there  is  not  some  other  means  of  ascertaining 
the  writer's  name  you  are  utterly  at  fault. 

The  old  habit  of  crossing  letters,  now  happily  aban- 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.        333 

doned,  was  a  direct  breach  of  real,  though  not  of  what 
in  former  days  were  conventional,  good  manners.  To 
cross  a  letter  is  as  much  as  to  say,  ' '  In  order  to  spare 
myself  the  cost  of  another  sheet  of  paper  or  an  extra 
stamp,  I  am  quite  willing  to  inflict  upon  }TOU,  my  reader, 
the  trouble  of  disengaging  one  set  of  lines  from  an- 
other." Very  economical  people  in  the  past  generation 
saved  an  occasional  penny  in  another  way  at  the  cost  of 
the  reader's  eyes.  They  diluted  their  ink  with  water, 
till  the  recipient  of  the  letter  cried,  "Prithee,  why  so 
pale?" 

The  modern  type-writing  machine  has  the  advantage 
of  making  all  words  equplty  legible  ;  but  the  receiver  of 
the  printed  letter  is  likely  to  feel  on  opening  it  a  slight 
yet  perceptible  shock  of  the  kind  always  caused  by  a 
want  of  consideration.  The  letter  so  printed  is  un- 
doubtedly easier  to  read  than  all  but  the  ver}r  clearest 
manuscript,  and  so  far  it  may  be  considered  a  politeness 
to  use  the  instrument ;  but  unluckily  it  is  impersonal, 
so  that  the  performer  on  the  instrument  seems  far  re- 
moved from  the  receiver  of  the  letter  and  not  in  that 
direct  communication  with  him  which  would  be  appar- 
ent in  an  autograph.  The  effect  on  the  mind  is  almost 
like  that  of  a  printed  circular,  or  at  least  of  a  letter 
which  has  been  dictated  to  a  short-hand  writer. 

The  dictation  of  letters  is  allowable  in  business, 
because  men  of  business  have  to  use  the  utmost  attain- 
able despatch,  and  (like  the  use  of  the  lead  pencil)  it  is 
permitted  to  invalids,  but  with  these  exceptions  it  is 
sure  to  produce  a  feeling  of  distance  almost  resembling 
discourtesy.  In  the  first  place,  a  dictated  letter  is  not 


334        EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION. 

strictly  private,  its  contents  being  already  known  to 
the  amanuensis  ;  and  besides  this  it  is  felt  that  the  rea- 
son for  dictating  letters  is  the  composer's  convenience, 
which  he  ought  not  to  consult  so  obviously.  If  he 
dictates  to  a  short-hand  writer  he  is  evidently  chary  of 
his  valuable  time,  whereas  courtesy  always  at  least 
seems  willing  to  sacrifice  time  to  others.  These  re- 
marks, I  repeat,  have  no  reference  to  business  corre- 
spondence, which  has  its  own  code  of  good  manners. 

The  most  irritating  letters  to  receive  are  those  which, 
under  a  great  show  of  courtesy,  with  many  phrases  and 
many  kind  inquiries  about  }Tour  health  and  that  of  your 
household,  and  even  with  some  news  adapted  to  your 
taste,  contain  some  short  sentence  which  betrays  the 
fact  that  the  whole  letter  was  written  with  a  manifestly 
selfish  purpose.  The  proper  answer  to  such  letters  is  a 
brief  business  answer  to  the  one  essential  sentence  that 
revealed  the  writer's  object,  not  taking  any  notice  what- 
ever of  the  froth  of  courteous  verbiage. 

Is  it  a  part  of  necessary  good  breeding  to  answer 
letters  at  all?  Are  we  realty,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
under  the  obligation  to  take  a  piece  of  paper  and  write 
phrases  and  sentences  thereupon  because  it  has  pleased 
somebody  at  a  distance  to  spend  his  time  in  that 
manner  ? 

This  requires  consideration ;  there  can  be  no  general 
rule.  It  seems  to  me  that  people  commit  the  error  of 
transferring  the  subject  from  the  region  of  oral  conver- 
sation to  the  region  of  written  intercourse.  If  a  man 
asked  me  the  way  in  the  street  it  would  be  rudeness  on 
my  part  not  to  answer  him,  because  the  answer  is  easily 


EPISTOLARY  COMMUNICATION.        335 

given  and  costs  no  appreciable  time,  but  in  written 
correspondence  the  case  is  essentially  different.  I  am 
burdened  with  work ;  ever}'  hour,  every  minute  of  my 
day  is  apportioned  to  some  definite  duty  or  necessary 
rest,  and  three  strangers  make  use  of  the  post  to  ask  me 
questions.  To  answer  them  I  must  make  references ; 
however  brief  the  letters  may  be  they  will  take  time,  — 
altogether  the  three  will  consume  an  hour.  Have  these 
correspondents  any  right  to  expect  me  to  work  an  hour 
for  them?  Would  a  cabman  drive  them  about  the 
streets  of  London  during  an  hour  for  nothing?  Would 
a  waterman  pull  them  an  hour  on  the  Thames  for 
nothing?  Would  a  shoe-black  brush  their  boots  and 
trousers  an  hour  for  nothing?  And  why  am  I  to  serve 
these  men  gratuitously  and  be  called  an  ill-bred,  dis- 
courteous person  if  I  tacitly  decline  to  be  their  servant  ? 
We  owe  sacrifices  —  occasional  sacrifices  —  of  this  kind 
to  friends  aud  relations,  and  we  can  afford  them  to  a 
few,  but  we  are  under  no  obligation  to  answer  every- 
body. Those  whom  we  do  answer  may  be  thankful  for 
a  word  on  a  post-card  in  Gladstone's  brief  but  sufficient 
fashion.  I  am  very  much  of  the  opinion  of  Rudolphe 
in  Ponsard's  "  L'Honneur  et  1' Argent."  A  friend  asks 
him  what  he  does  about  letters  :  — 

Rudolphe.  Je  lea  mets 

Soigneusement  en  poche  et  ne  reponds  jamais. 

Premier  Ami.  Oh  !  vous  raillez. 

Rudolphe.  Non  pas.    Je  ne  puis  pas  admettre 
Qu'un  importun  m'oblige  a  repondre  a  sa  lettre, 
Et,  parcequ'il  lui  plait  de  noircir  du  papier 
Me  coiidamne  moi-meme  a  ce  facheux  metier. 


336  LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


ESSAY  XXIII. 

LETTERS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

TF  the  art  of  writing  had  been  unknown  till  now,  and 
-^-  if  the  invention  of  it  were  suddenly  to  burst  upon 
the  world  as  did  that  of  the  telephone,  one  of  the  things 
most  generally  said  in  praise  of  it  would  be  this.  It 
would  be  said,  "  What  a  gain  to  friendship,  now  that 
friends  can  communicate  in  spite  of  separation  by  the 
very  widest  distances  !  " 

Yet  we  have  possessed  this  means  of  communication, 
the  fullest  and  best  of  all,  from  remote  antiquity,  and  we 
scarcely  make  any  use  of  it  —  certainly  not  any  use  at 
all  responding  to  its  capabilities,  and  as  time  goes  on, 
instead  of  developing  those  capabilities  by  practice  in 
the  art  of  friendty  correspondence,  we  allow  them  to 
diminish  by  disuse. 

The  lowering  of  cost  for  the  transport  of  letters,  in- 
stead of  making  friendly  correspondents  numerous,  has 
made  them  few.  The  cheap  postage-stamp  has  in- 
creased business  correspondence  prodigiously,  but  it 
has  had  a  very  different  effect  on  that  of  friendship. 
Great  numbers  of  men  whose  business  correspondence 
is  heavy  scarcely  write  letters  of  friendship  at  all. 
Their  minds  produce  the  business  letter  as  by  a  second 
nature,  and  are  otherwise  sterile. 

As  for  the  facilities  afforded  by  steam  communication 


LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  337 

with  distant  countries,  they  seem  to  be  of  little  use 
to  friendship,  since  a  moderate  distance  soon  puts  a 
stop  to  friendly  communication.  Except  in  cases  of 
strong  affection  the  Straits  of  Dover  are  an  effectual 
though  imaginary  bar  to  intercourse  of  this  kind,  not  to 
speak  of  the  great  oceans. 

The  impediment  created  by  a  narrow  sea  is,  as  I 
have  said,  imaginary,  but  we  may  speculate  on  the 
reasons  for  it ;  and  my  own  reflections  have  ended  in 
the  somewhat  strange  conclusion  that  it  must  have 
something  to  do  with  sea-sickness.  It  must  be  that 
people  dislike  the  idea  of  writing  a  letter  that  will  have 
to  cross  a  narrow  channel  of  salt-water,  because  they 
vaguely  and  dimly  dread  the  motion  of  the  vessel. 
Nobody  would  consciously  avow  to  himself  such  a 
sympathy  with  a  missive  exempt  from  all  human  ills, 
but  the  feeling  may  be  unconsciously  present.  How 
else  are  we  to  account  for  the  remarkable  fact  that  salt- 
water breaks  friendly  communication  by  letter  ?  If  you 
go  to  live  anj'where  out  of  }*our  native  island  your  most 
intimate  friends  cease  to  give  any  news  of  themselves. 
They  do  not  even  send  printed  announcements  of  the 
marriages  and  deaths  in  their  families.  This  does  not 
imply  any  cessation  of  friendly  feeling  on  their  part. 
If  you  appeared  in  England  again  they  would  welcome 
you  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  hospitality,  but  they 
do  not  like  to  post  anything  that  will  have  to  cross  the 
sea.  The  news-vendors  have  not  the  same  delicate 
imaginative  sympathy  with  the  possible  sufferings  of 
rag-pulp,  so  you  get  your  English  journals  and  find 
therein,  by  pure  accident,  the  marriage  of  one  intimate 

22 


338  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

old  friend  and  the  death  of  another.  You  excuse  the 
married  man,  because  he  is  too  much  intoxicated  with 
happiness  to  be  responsible  for  any  omission  ;  and  you 
excuse  the  dead  man,  because  he  cannot  send  letters 
from  another  world.  Still  you  think  that  somebody 
not  preoccupied  by  bridal  jo3*s  or  impeded  by  the  last 
paralysis  might  have  sent  you  a  line  directly,  were  it 
only  a  printed  card. 

Not  only  do  the  writers  of  letters  feel  a  difficulty  in 
sending  their  manuscript  across  the  sea,  but  people 
appear  to  have  a  sense  of  difficulty  in  correspondence 
proportionate  to  the  distance  the  letter  will  have  to 
traverse.  One  would  infer  that  they  realty  experience, 
by  the  power  of  imagination,  a  feeling  of  fatigue  in 
sending  a  letter  on  a  long  journey.  If  this  is  not  so, 
how  are  we  to  account  for  the  fact  that  the  rarity  of 
letters  from  friends  increases  in  exact  proportion  to 
our  remoteness  from  them  ?  A  simple  person  without 
correspondence  would  naturally  imagine  that  it  would 
be  resorted  to  as  a  solace  for  separation,  and  that  the 
greater  the  distance  the  more  the  separated  friends 
would  desire  to  be  drawn  together  occasionally  by  its 
means,  but  in  practice  this  rarely  happens.  People 
will  communicate  by  letter  across  a  space  of  a  hundred 
miles  when  they  will  not  across  a  thousand. 

The  very  smallest  impediments  are  of  importance 
when  the  desire  for  intercourse  is  languid.  The  cost 
of  postage  to  colonies  and  to  countries  within  the  pos- 
tal union  is  trifling,  but  still  it  is  heavier  than  the  cost 
of  internal  postage,  and  it  may  be  unconsciously  felt 
as  an  impediment.  Another  slight  impediment  is  that 


LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  339 

the  answer  to  a  letter  sent  to  a  great  distance  cannot 
arrive  next  day,  so  that  he  who  writes  in  hope  of  an 
answer  is  like  a  trader  who  cannot  expect  an  immedi- 
ate return  for  an  investment. 

To  prevent  friendships  from  dying  out  entirely 
through  distance,  the  French  have  a  custom  which 
seems,  but  is  not,  an  empty  form.  On  or  about  New 
Year's  Day  they  send  cards  to  all  friends  and  many 
acquaintances,  however  far  away.  The  useful  effects 
of  this  custom  are  the  following :  — 

1 .  It  acquaints  you  with  the  fact  that  your  friend  is 
still  alive,  —  pleasing  information  if  you  care  to  see 
him  again. 

2.  It  shows  you  that  he  has  not  forgotten  you. 

3.  It  gives  you  his  present  address. 

4.  In  case  of  marriage,  you  receive  his  wife's  card 
along  with  his  own ;  and  if  he  is  dead  you  receive  no 
card  at  all,  which  is  at  least  a  negative  intimation.1 

This  custom  has  also  an  effect  upon  written  corre- 
spondence, as  the  printed  card  affords  the  opportunity 
of  writing  a  letter,  when,  without  the  address,  the  let- 
ter might  not  be  written.  When  the  address  is  well 
known  the  card  often  suggests  the  idea  of  writing. 

When  warm  friends  send  visiting-cards  they  often 
add  a  few  words  of  manuscript  on  the  card  itself,  ex- 
pressing friendly  sentiments  and  giving  a  scrap  of  brief 
but  welcome  news. 

Here  is  a  suggestion  to  a  generation  that  thinks 
friendly  letter-writing  irksome.  With  ft  view  to  the 

1  Besides  which,  in  the  case  of  a  French  friend,  you  are  sure  to 
have  notice  of  such  events  by  printed  lettres  defaire  part. 


340  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

sparing  of  time  and  trouble,  which  is  the  great  object 
of  modern  life  (sparing,  that  is,  in  order  to  waste  in 
other  wa}rs) ,  cards  might  be  printed  as  forms  of  invita- 
tion are,  leaving  only  a  few  blanks  to  be  filled  up ;  or 
there  might  be  a  public  signal-book  in  which  the  phrases 
most  likely  to  be  useful  might  be  represented  by  num- 
bers. 

The  abandonment  of  letter-writing  between  friends 
is  the  more  to  be  regretted  that,  unless  our  friends  are 
public  persons,  we  receive  no  news  of  them  indirectly ; 
therefore,  when  we  leave  their  neighborhood,  the  sepa- 
ration is  of  that  complete  kind  which  resembles  tempo- 
rary death.  uNo  word  comes  from  the  dead,"  and  no 
word  comes  from  those  silent  friends.  It  is  a  melan- 
choly thought  in  leaving  a  friend  of  this  kind,  when  you 
shake  hands  at  the  station  and  still  hear  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  will  be  dead  to  you 
for  months  or  years.  The  separation  from  a  corre- 
sponding friend  is  shorn  of  half  its  sorrows.  You 
know  that  he  will  write,  and  when  he  writes  it  requires 
little  imagination  to  hear  his  voice  again. 

To  write,  however,  is  not  all.  For  correspondence 
to  reach  its  highest  value,  both  friends  must  have  the 
natural  gift  of  friendly  letter-writing,  which  may  be 
defined  as  the  power  of  talking  on  paper  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  represent  their  own  minds  with  perfect 
fidelity  in  their  friendly  aspect. 

This  power  is  not  common.  A  man  may  be  a  charm- 
ing companion,  full  of  humor  and  gayety,  a  well  of 
knowledge,  an  excellent  talker,  yet  his  correspondence 
may  not  reveal  the  possession  of  these  gifts.  Some 


LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  341 

men  are  so  constituted  that  as  soon  as  they  take  a  pen 
their  faculties  freeze.  I  remember  a  case  of  the  same 
congelation  in  another  art.  A  certain  painter  had 
exuberant  humor  and  mimicry,  with  a  marked  talent 
for  strong  effects  in  talk ;  in  short,  he  had  the  gifts  of 
an  actor,  and,  as  Pius  VII.  called  Napoleon  L,  he  was 
both  commediante  and  tragediante.  Any  one  who 
knew  him,  and  did  not  know  his  paintings,  would 
have  supposed  at  once  that  a  man  so  gifted  must  have 
painted  the  most  animated  works ;  but  it  so  happened 
(from  some  cause  in  the  deepest  mysteries  of  his  na- 
ture) that  whenever  he  took  up  a  brush  or  a  pencil  his 
humor,  his  tragic  power,  and  his  love  of  telling  effects 
all  suddenly  left  him,  and  he  was  as  timid,  slow,  sober, 
and  generally  ineffectual  in  his  painting  as  he  was  full  of 
fire  and  energy  in  talk.  So  it  is  in  writing.  That 
which  ought  to  be  the  pouring  forth  of  a  man's  nature 
often  liberates  only  a  part  of  his  nature,  and  perhaps 
that  part  which  has  least  to  do  with  friendship.  Your 
friend  delights  you  by  his  ease  and  affectionate  charm 
of  manner,  by  the  happiness  of  his  expressions,  by  his 
wit,  by  the  extent  of  his  information,  all  these  being 
qualities  that  social  intercourse  brings  out  in  him  as 
colors  are  revealed  by  light.  The  same  man,  in  dull 
solitude  at  his  desk,  may  write  a  letter  from  which 
eve^  one  of  these  qualities  may  be  totally  absent,  and 
instead  of  them  he  may  offer  you  a  piece  of  perfunctory 
duty-writing  which,  as  you  see  quite  plainly,  he  only 
wanted  to  get  done  with,  and  in  which  you  do  not  find 
a  trace  of  your  friend's  real  character.  Such  corre- 
spondence as  that  is  worth  having  only  so  far  as 


342  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

it  informs  you  of  your  friend's  existence  and  of  his 
health. 

Another  and  a  very  different  way  in  which  a  man 
may  represent  himself  unfairly  in  correspondence,  so 
that  his  letters  are  not  his  real  self,  is  when  he  finds 
that  he  has  some  particular  talent  as  a  writer,  and  un- 
consciously cultivates  that  talent  when  he  holds  a  pen, 
whereas  his  real  self  has  man}7  other  qualities  that  re- 
main unrepresented.  In  this  way  humor  may  become 
the  dominant  qualit}7  in  the  letters  of  a  correspondent 
whose  conversation  is  not  dominantly  humorous. 

Habits  of  business  sometimes  produce  the  effect  that 
the  confirmed  business  correspondent  will  write  to  his 
friend  willingly  and  promptly  on  an}T  matter  of  busi- 
ness, and  will  give  him  excellent  advice,  and  be  glad 
of  the  opportunity  of  rendering  him  a  service,  but  he 
will  shrink  from  the  unaccustomed  effort  of  writing  any 
other  kind  of  letter. 

There  is  a  strong  temptation  to  blame  silent  friends 
and  praise  good  correspondents ;  but  we  do  not  reflect 
that  letter-writing  is  a  task  to  some  and  a  pleasure  to 
others,  and  that  if  people  may  sometimes  be  justly 
blamed  for  shirking  a  corvee  they  can  never  deserve 
praise  for  indulging  in  an  amusement  There  is  a  par- 
ticular reason  why,  when  friendly  letter-writing  is  a 
task,  it  is  more  willingly  put  off  than  many  other  tasks 
that  appear  far  heavier  and  harder.  It  is  either  a  real 
pleasure  or  a  feigned  pleasure,  and  feigned  pleasures 
are  the  most  wearisome  things  in  life,  far  more  weari- 
some than  acknowledged  work.  For  in  work  you  have 
a  plain  thing  to  do  and  you  see  the  end  of  it,  and  there 


LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  343 

is  no  need  for  ambages  at  the  beginning  or  for  a  graceful 
retiring  at  the  close ;  but  a  feigned  pleasure  has  its 
own  observances  that  must  be  gone  through  whether  one 
has  any  heart  for  them  or  not.  The  groom  who  cleans 
a  rich  man's  stable,  and  whistles  at  his  work,  is  happier 
than  the  guest  at  a  state  dinner  who  is  trying  to  look 
other  than  what  he  is,  —  a  wearied  victim  of  feigned  and 
formal  pleasure  with  a  set  false  smile  upon  his  face. 
In  writing  a  business  letter  you  have  nothing  to  affect ; 
but  a  letter  of  friendship,  unless  you  have  the  real  in- 
spiration for  it,  is  a  narrative  of  things  you  have  no 
true  impulse  to  narrate,  and  the  expression  of  feelings 
which  (even  if  the}'  be  in  some  degree  existent)  you 
do  not  earnest^  desire  to  utter. 

The  sentiment  of  friendship  is  in  general  rather  a 
quiet  feeling  of  regard  than  any  lively  enthusiasm.  It 
may  be  counted  upon  for  what  it  is,  —  a  disposition  to 
receive  the  friend  with  a  welcome  or  to  render  him  an 
occasional  service,  but  there  is  not,  commonly,  enough 
of  it  to  be  a  perennial  warm  fountain  of  literary  inspira- 
tion. Therefore  the  worst  mistake  in  dealing  with  a 
friend  is  to  reproach  him  for  not  having  been  cordial 
and  communicative  enough.  Sometimes  this  reproach 
is  made,  especially  by  women,  and  the  immediate  effect 
of  it  is  to  close  whatever  communicativeness  there  may 
be.  If  the  friend  wrote  little  before  being  reproached 
he  will  write  less  after. 

The  true  inspiration  of  the  friendly  letter  is  the  per- 
fect faith  that  all  the  concerns  of  the  writer  will  interest 
his  friend.  If  James,  who  is  separated  by  distance  from 
John,  thinks  that  John  will  not  care  about  what  James 


344  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

has  been  doing,  hoping,  suffering,  the  fount  of  friendly 
correspondence  is  frozen  at  its  source.  James  ought  to 
believe  that  John  loves  him  enough  to  care  about  every 
little  thing  that  can  affect  his  happiness,  even  to  the 
sickness  of  his  old  horse  or  the  accident  that  happened 
to  his  dog  when  the  scullery-maid  threw  scalding  water 
out  of  the  kitchen  window ;  then  there  will  be  no  lack, 
and  James  will  babble  on  innocently  through  many  a 
page,  and  never  have  to  think. 

The  believer  in  friendship,  he  who  has  the  true  un- 
doubting  faith,  writes  with  perfect  carelessness  about 
great  things  and  small,  avoiding  neither  serious  interests, 
as  a  wary  man  would,  nor  trivial  ones  that  might  be 
passed  over  by  a  writer  avaricious  of  his  time.  William 
of  Orange,  in  his  letters  to  Bentinck,  appears  to  have 
been  the  model  of  friendly  correspondents  ;  and  he  was 
so  because  his  letters  reflected  not  a  part  only  of  his 
thinking  and  living,  but  the  whole  of  it,  as  if  nothing 
that  concerned  him  could  possibly  be  without  interest 
for  the  man  he  loved.  Familiar  as  it  must  be  to  many 
readers,  I  cannot  but  quote  a  passage  from  Macaulay : 

"  The  descendants  of  Bentinck  still  preserve  many  letters 
written  by  William  to  their  master,  and  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  no  person  who  has  not  studied  those  letters  can  form 
a  correct  notion  of  the  Prince's  character.  He  whom  even 
his  admirers  generally  accounted  the  most  frigid  and  distant 
of  men  here  forgets  all  distinctions  of  rank,  and  pours  out 
all  his  thoughts  with  the  ingenuousness  of  a  schoolboy.  He 
imparts  without  reserve  secrets  of  the  highest  moment.  He 
explains  with  perfect  simplicity  vast  designs  affecting  all 
the  governments  of  Europe.  Mingled  with  his  communica- 
tions on  such  subjects  are  other  communications  of  a  very 


LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  345 

different  but  perhaps  not  of  a  less  interesting  kind.  All  his 
adventures,  all  his  personal  feelings,  his  long  runs  after  enor- 
mous stags,  his  carousals  on  St.  Hubert's  Day,  the  growth  of 
his  plantations,  the  failure  of  his  melons,  the  state  of  his 
stud,  his  wish  to  procure  an  easy  pad-nag  for  his  wife,  his 
vexation  at  learning  that  one  of  his  household,  after  ruining 
a  girl  of  good  family,  refused  to  marry  her,  his  fits  of  sea- 
sickness, his  coughs,  his  headaches,  his  devotional  moods,  his 
gratitude  for  the  Divine  protection  after  a  great  escape,  his 
struggles  to  submit  himself  to  the  Divine  will  after  a  disaster, 
are  described  with  an  amiable  garrulity  hardly  to  have  been 
expected  from  the  most  discreetly  sedate  statesman  of  his 
age.  Still  more  remarkable  is  the  careless  effusion  of  his 
tenderness,  and  the  brotherly  interest  which  he  takes  in 
his  friend's  domestic  felicity." 

Friendly  letters  easily  run  over  from  sheet  to  sheet 
till  they  become  ample  and  voluminous.  I  received  a 
welcome  epistle  of  twenty  pages  recently,  and  have 
seen  another  from  a  3'oung  man  to  his  comrade  which 
exceeded  fifty ;  but  the  grandest  letter  that  I  ever  heard 
of  was  from  Gustave  Dore  to  a  verj'  old  lady  whom  he 
liked.  He  was  travelling  in  Switzerland,  and  sent  her 
a  letter  eighty  pages  long,  full  of  lively  pen-sketches 
for  her  entertainment.  Artists  often  insert  sketches  in 
their  letters,  —  a  graceful  habit,  as  it  adds  to  their  inter- 
est and  value. 

The  talent  for  scribbling  friendly  letters  implies  some 
rough  literary  power,  but  may  coexist  with  other  literarj' 
powers  of  a  totally  different  kind,  and,  as  it  seems,  in 
perfect  independence  of  them.  There  is  no  apparent 
connection  between  the  genius  in  "  Childe  Harold," 
u  Manfred,"  "  Cain,"  and  the  talent  of  a  lively  letter- writer, 
yet  Byron  was  the  best  careless  letter-writer  in  English 


346  LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

whose  correspondence  has  been  published  and  pre- 
served. He  said  "  dreadful  is  the  exertion  of  letter- 
writing,"  but  by  this  he  must  have  meant  the  first 
overcoming  of  indolence  to  begin  the  letter,  for  when 
once  in  motion  his  pen  travelled  with  consummate 
naturalness  and  ease,  and  the  exertion  is  not  to  be 
perceived.  The  length  and  subject  of  his  communica- 
tions were  indeterminate.  He  scribbled  on  and  on, 
every  passing  mood  being  reflected  and  fixed  forever 
in  his  letters,  which  complete  our  knowledge  of  him  by 
showing  us  the  action  of  his  mind  in  ordina^  times  as 
vividly  as  the  poems  display  its  power  in  moments  of 
highest  exaltation.  We  follow  his  mental  phases  from 
minute  to  minute.  He  is  not  really  in  one  state  and 
pretending  to  be  in  another  for  form's  sake,  so  }~ou 
have  all  his  moods,  and  the  letters  are  alive.  The 
transitions  are  quick  as  thought.  He  darts  from  one 
topic  to  another  with  the  freedom  and  agility  of  a  bird, 
dwelling  on  each  just  long  enough  to  satisfy  his  present 
need,  but  not  an  instant  longer,  and  this  without  any 
reference  to  the  original  subject  or  motive  of  the  letter. 
He  is  one  of  those  perfect  correspondents  qui  causent 
avec  la  plume.  Men,  women,  and  things,  comic  and 
tragic  adventures,  magnificent  scenery,  historical  cities, 
all  that  his  mind  spontaneously  notices  in  the  world, 
are  touched  upon  briefly,  yet  with  consummate  power. 
Though  the  sentences  were  written  in  the  most  careless 
haste  and  often  in  the  strangest  situations,  many  a 
paragraph  is  so  dense  in  its  substance,  so  full  of  matter, 
that  one  could  not  abridge  it  without  loss.  But  the 
supreme  merit  of  Byron's  letters  is  that  they  record 


LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

his  own  sensations  with  such  fidelity.  What  do  I,  the 
receiver  of  a  letter,  care  for  second-hand  opinions  about 
am'thing?  I  can  hear  the  fashionable  opinions  from 
echoes  innumerable.  What  I  do  want  is  a  bit  of  my 
friend  himself,  of  his  own  peculiar  idiosyncrasy,  and  if 
I  get  that  it  matters  nothing  that  his  feelings  and  opin- 
ions should  be  different  from  mine ;  nay,  the  more  they 
differ  from  mine  the  more  freshness  and  amusement 
they  bring  me.  All  Byron's  correspondents  might  be 
sure  of  getting  a  bit  of  the  real  Bj-ron.  He  never 
describes  anything  without  conveying  the  exact  effect 
upon  himself.  Writing  to  his  publisher  from  Rome  in 
1817,  he  gives  in  a  single  paragraph  a  powerful  descrip- 
tion of  the  execution  of  three  robbers  by  the  guillotine 
(rather  too  terrible  to  quote) ,  and  at  the  end  of  it  comes 
the  personal  effect :  — 

"  The  pain  seems  little,  and  yet  the  effect  to  the  spectator 
and  the  preparation  to  the  criminal  are  very  striking  and 
chilling.  The  first  turned  me  quite  hot  and  thirsty,  and 
made  me  shake  so  that  I  could  hardly  hold  the  opera-glass 
(I  was  close,  but  was  determined  to  see  as  one  should  see 
everything  once,  with  attention)  ;  the  second  and  third  (which 
shows  how  dreadfully  soon  things  grow  indifferent),  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  had  no  effect  on  me  as  a  horror,  though  I 
would  have  saved  them  if  I  could." 

How  accurately  this  experience  is  described  with  no 
affectation  of  impassible  courage  (he  trembles  at  first 
like  a  woman)  or  of  becoming  emotion  afterwards,  the 
instant  that  the  real  emotion  ceased !  Only  some  pity 
remains,  —  "  I  would  have  saved  them  if  I  could." 

The  bits  of  frank  criticism  thrown  into  his  letters, 
often  quite  by  chance,  were  not  the  least  interesting 


348  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

elements  in  Byron's  correspondence.     Here  is  an  ex- 
ample, about  a  book  that  had  been  sent  him  :  — 

"  Modern  Greece — good  for  nothing;  written  by  some  one 
who  has  never  been  there,  and,  not  being  able  to  manage  the 
Spenser  stanza,  has  invented  a  thing  of  his  own,  consisting 
of  two  elegiac  stanzas,  an  heroic  line  and  an  Alexandrine, 
twisted  on  a  string.  Besides,  why  modern  f  You  may  say 
modern  Greeks,  but  surely  Greece  itself  is  rather  more  ancient 
than  ever  it  was." 

The  carelessness  of  Byron  in  letter- writing,  his  total 
indifference  to  proportion  and  form,  his  inattention  to 
the  beginning,  middle,  and  end  of  a  letter,  considered 
as  a  literary  composition,  are  not  to  be  counted  for 
faults,  as  they  would  be  in  writings  of  any  pretension. 
A  friendly  letter  is,  by  its  nature,  a  thing  without  pre- 
tension. The  one  merit  of  it  which  compensates  for 
every  defect  is  to  carry  the  living  writer  into  the  reader's 
presence,  such  as  he  realty  is,  not  such  as  by  study  and 
art  he  might  make  himself  out  to  be.  Byron  was 
energetic,  impetuous,  impulsive,  quickty  observant,  dis- 
orderly, generous,  open-hearted,  vain.  All  these  quali- 
ties and  defects  are  as  conspicuous  in  his  correspondence 
as  they  were  in  his  mode  of  life.  There  have  been  better 
letter-writers  as  to  literary  art,  —  to  which  he  gave  no 
thought,  —  and  the  literary  merits  that  his  letters  possess 
(their  clearness,  their  force  of  narrative  and  description, 
their  conciseness)  are  not  the  results  of  study,  but  the 
characteristics  of  a  vigorous  mind. 

The  absolutely  best  friendly  letter-writer  known  to 
me  is  Victor  Jacquemont.  He,  too,  wrote  according  to 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  but  it  was  so  abundant 


LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  349 

that  it  carried  him  on  like  a  steadily  flowing  tide.  His 
letters  are  wonderful^  sustained,  yet  they  are  not  com- 
posed;  they  are  as  artless  as  Byron's,  but  much  more 
full  and  regular.  Many  scribblers  have  facility,  a  flux 
of  words,  but  who  has  Jacquemont's  weight  of  matter 
along  with  it?  The  development  of  his  extraordinary 
epistolary  talent  was  due  to  another  talent  deprived  of 
adequate  exercise  by  circumstances.  Jacquemont  was 
by  nature  a  brilliant,  charming,  amiable  talker,  and  the 
circumstances  were  various  situations  in  which  this 
talker  was  deprived  of  an  audience,  being  often,  in 
long  wanderings,  surrounded  by  dull  or  ignorant  people. 
Ideas  accumulated  in  his  mind  till  the  accumulation  be- 
came difficult  to  bear,  and  he  relieved  himself  by  talking 
on  paper  to  friends  at  a  distance,  but  intentionally  onlj* 
to  one  friend  at  a  time.  He  tried  to  forget  that  his 
letters  were  passed  round  a  circle  of  readers,  and  the 
idea  that  they  would  be  printed  never  once  occurred  to 
him :  —  » 

"En  £crivant  aujourd'hui  aux  uns  et  aux  autres,  j'ai 
cherche  a  oublier  ce  que  tu  me  dis  de  1'dchange  que  chacun 
fait  des  lettres  qu'il  re9oit  de  moi.  Cette  pense*e  m'aurait 
retenu  la  plume,  ou  du  moins,  ne  Vaurait  pas  laisse'e  couler 
astsez  nonchalamment  sur  le  papier  pour  en  noircir,  en  un  jour, 
cinguante-huit  feuilles,  com  me  je  1'ai  fait.  .  .  .  Je  sais  et 
j'aime  beaucoup  causer  a  deux  ;  a  trots,  c'est  autre  chose;  il  en 
est  de  meme  pour  e'crire.  Pour  parler  comme  je  pense  et  sans 
blague,  il  me  faut  la  persuasion  que  je  ne  serai  lu  que  de  celui 
a  qidfecris" 

To  read  these  letters,  in  the  four  volumes  of  them 
which  have  been  happily  preserved,  is  to  live  with  the 
courageous  observer  from  day  to  daj~,  to  share  pleasures 


350  LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

enjoyed  with  the  freshness  of  sensation  that  belongs  to 
youth  and  strength,  and  privations  borne  with  the  cheer- 
fulness of  a  truly  heroic  spirit. 

This  Essay  would  run  to  an  inordinate  length  if  I  even 
mentioned  the  best  of  the  many  letter- writers  who  are 
known  to  us ;  and  it  is  generally  by  some  adventitious 
circumstance  that  they  have  ever  been  known  at  all. 
A  man  wins  fame  in  something  quite  outside  of  letter- 
writing,  and  then  his  letters  are  collected  and  given  to 
the  world,  but  perfectly  obscure  people  may  have  been 
equal  or  superior  to  him  as  correspondents.  Occasion- 
ally the  letters  of  some  obscure  person  are  rescued  from 
oblivion.  Madame  de  Remusat  passed  quietly  through 
life,  and  is  now  in  a  blaze  of  posthumous  fame.  Her 
son  decided  upon  the  publication  of  her  letters,  and  then 
it  became  at  once  apparent  that  this  lady  had  extraor- 
dinary gifts  of  the  observing  and  recording  order,  so 
that  her  testimony,  as  an  eye- witness  of  rare  intelligence, 
must  affect  all  future  estimates  of  the  conqueror  of 
Austerlitz.  There  may  be  at  this  moment,  there  prob- 
ably are,  persons  to  whom  the  world  attributes  no  liter- 
ary talent,  yet  who  are  cleverly  preserving  the  ve^  best 
materials  of  history  in  careless  letters  to  their  friends. 

It  seems  an  indiscretion  to  read  private  letters,  even 
when  they  are  in  print,  but  it  is  an  indiscretion  we  can- 
not help  committing.  What  can  be  more  private  than 
a  letter  from  a  man  to  his  wife  on  purely  famity  matters  ? 
Surely  it  is  wrong  to  read  such  letters ;  but  who  could 
repent  having  read  that  exquisite  one  from  Tasso's 
father,  Bernardo  Tasso,  written  to  his  wife  about  the 
education  of  their  children  during  an  involuntary  sepa- 


LETTERS   OF  FRIENDSHIP.  351 

ration?  It  shows  to  what  a  degree  a  sheet  of  paper 
may  be  made  the  vehicle  of  a  tender  affection.  In  the 
first  page  he  tries,  and,  lover-like,  tries  again  and  again, 
to  find  words  that  will  draw  them  together  in  spite  of 
distance.  "  Not  merely  often,"  he  says,  "  but  con- 
tinually our  thoughts  must  meet  upon  the  road."  He 
expresses  the  fullest  confidence  that  her  feelings  for 
him  are  as  strong  and  true  as  his  own  for  her,  and  that 
the  weariness  of  separation  is  painful  alike  for  both, 
only  he  fears  that  she  will  be  less  able  to  bear  the  pain, 
not  because  she  is  wanting  in  prudence  but  by  reason 
of  her  abounding  love.  At  length  the  tender  kindness 
of  Ms  expressions  culminates  in  one  passionate  outburst, 
"  poi  ch'  io  amo  voi  in  quello  estremo  grado  che  si 
possa  amar  cosa  mortale." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  stronger  contrast  than 
that  between  Bernardo  Tasso's  warmth  and  the  tranquil 
coolness  of  Montaigne,  who  just  says  enough  to  save 
appearances  in  that  one  conjugal  epistle  of  his  which 
has  come  down  to  us.  He  begins  by  quoting  a  scepti- 
cal modern  view  of  marriage,  and  then  briefly  disclaims 
it  for  himself,  but  does  not  say  exactly  what  his  own 
sentiments  may  be,  not  having  much  ardor  of  affec- 
tion to  express,  and  honestly  avoiding  any  feigned 
declarations :  — 

44  Ma  Femme  vous  entendez  bien  que  ce  n'est  pas  le  tour 
d'vn  galand  homme,  aux  reigles  de  ce  temps  icy,  de  vous 
courtiser  &  caresser  encore.  Car  Us  disent  qu'vri  habil 
homme  peut  bien  prendre  femme:  mais  que  de  1'espouser 
c'est  a  faire  a  vn  sot.  Laissoiis  les  dire :  ie  me  tiens  de  ma 
part  a  la  simple  facon  du  vieil  aage,  aussi  en  porte-ie  tan  tost 


352  LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

le  poll.  Et  de  vray  la  nouuellete  couste  si  cher  iusqu'k  ceste 
heure  k  ce  pauure  estat  (&  si  ie  ne  &9ay  si  nous  en  sommes  k 
la  derniere  enchere)  qu'en  tout  &  par  tout  i'en  quitte  le  party. 
Viuons  ma  femme,  vous  &  moy,  k  la  vieille  Fran9oise." 

If  friendship  is  maintained  by  correspondence,  it  is 
also  liable  to  be  imperilled  by  it.  Not  unfrequently 
have  men  parted  on  the  most  amiable  terms,  looking 
forward  to  a  happy  meeting,  and  not  foreseeing  the  evil 
effects  of  letters.  Something  will  be  written  by  one  of 
them,  not  quite  acceptable  to  the  other,  who  will  either 
remonstrate  and  cause  a  rupture  in  that  way,  or  take 
his  trouble  silently  and  allow  friendship  to  die  miserably 
of  her  wound.  Much  experience  is  needed  before  we 
entirely  realize  the  danger  of  friendly  intercourse  on 
paper.  It  is,  ten  times  more  difficult  to  maintain  a 
friendship  by  letter  than  by  personal  intercourse,  not 
for  the  obvious  reason  that  letter-writing  requires  an 
effort,  but  because  as  soon  as  there  is  the  slightest 
divergence  of  views  or  difference  in  conduct,  the  ex- 
pression of  it  or  the  account  of  it  in  writing  cannot  be 
modified  by  kindness  in  the  eye  or  gentleness  in  the 
tone  of  voice.  My  friend  may  say  almost  anything  to 
me  in  his  private  room,  because  whatever  passes  his 
lips  will  come  with  tones  that  prove  him  to  be  still  my 
friend  ;  but  if  he  wrote  down  exactly  the  same  words, 
and  a  postman  handed  me  the  written  paper,  they  might 
seem  hard,  unkind,  and  even  hostile.  It  is  strange 
how  slow  we  are  to  discover  this  in  practice.  We  are 
accustomed  to  speak  with  great  freedom  to  intimate 
friends,  and  it  is  only  after  painful  mishaps  that  we 
completely  realize  the  truth  that  it  is  perilous  to  permit 


LETTERS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  353 

ourselves  the  same  liberty  with  the  pen.  As  soon  as 
we  do  realize  it  we  see  the  extreme  folly  of  those  who 
timidly  avoid  the  oral  expression  of  friendly  censure, 
and  afterwards  write  it  all  out  in  black  ink  and  send  it 
in  a  missive  to  the  victim  when  he  has  gone  away.  He 
receives  the  letter,  feels  it  to  be  a  cold  cruelty,  and 
takes  refuge  from  the  vexations  of  friendship  in  the 
toils  of  business,  thanking  Heaven  that  in  the  region 
of  plain  facts  there  is  small  place  for  sentiment. 


354  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 


ESSAY    XXIV. 

LETTERS    OF    BUSINESS. 

possibilities  of  intercourse  by  correspondence 
are  usually  underestimated. 

That  there  are  great  natural  differences  of  talent  for 
letter-writing  is  certainly  true ;  but  it  is  equally  true 
that  there  are  great  natural  differences  of  talent  for 
oral  explanation,  yet,  although  we  constantly  hear 
people  say  that  this  or  that  matter  of  business  cannot 
be  treated  by  correspondence,  we  never  hear  them  say 
that  it  cannot  be  treated  by  personal  interviews.  The 
value  of  the  personal  interview  is  often  as  much  over- 
estimated as  that  of  letters  is  depreciated  ;  for  if  some 
men  do  best  with  the  tongue,  others  are  more  effective 
with  the  pen. 

It  is  presumed  that  there  is  nothing  in  correspond- 
ence to  set  against  the  advantages  of  pouring  forth 
many  words  without  effort,  and  of  carrying  on  an 
argument  rapidly;  but  the  truth  is,  that  correspond- 
ence has  peculiar  advantages  of  its  own.  A  hearer 
seldom  grasps  another  person's  argument  until  it  has 
been  repeated  several  times,  and  if  the  argument  is  of 
a  very  complex  nature  the  chances  are  that  he  will 
not  carry  away  all  its  points  even  then.  A  letter  is 
a  document  which  a  person  of  slow  abilities  can  study 
at  his  leisure,  until  he  has  mastered  it;  so  that  an 


LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS.  355 

elaborate  piece  of  reasoning  may  be  set  forth  in  a 
letter  with  a  fair  chance  that  such  a  person  will  ulti- 
mately understand  it.  He  will  read  the  letter  three 
or  four  times  on  the  day  of  its  arrival,  then  he  will 
still  feel  that  something  may  have  escaped  him,  and 
he  will  read  it  again  next  day.  He  will  keep  it  and 
refer  to  it  afterwards  to  refresh  his  memoiy.  He  can 
do  nothing  of  all  this  with  what  you  say  to  him  orally. 
His  only  resource  in  that  case  is  to  write  down  a  memo- 
randum of  the  conversation  on  }Tour  departure,  in  which 
he  will  probably  make  serious  omissions  or  mistakes. 
Your  letter  is  a  memorandum  of  a  far  more  direct  and 
authentic  kind. 

Appointments  are  sometimes  made  in  order  to  settle 
a  matter  of  business  by  talking,  and  after  the  parties 
have  met  and  talked  for  a  long  time  one  sa}*s  to  the 
other,  "  I  will  write  to  you  in  a  day  or  two ; "  and  the 
other  instantly  agrees  with  the  proposal,  from  a  feeling 
that  the  matter  can  be  settled  more  clearly  by  letter 
than  by  oral  communication. 

In  these  cases  it  may  happen  that  the  talking  has 
cleared  the  way  for  the  letter,  —  that  it  has  removed 
subjects  of  doubt,  hesitation,  or  dispute,  and  left  only 
a  few  points  on  which  the  parties  are  very  nearly 
agreed. 

There  are,  however,  other  cases,  which  have  some- 
times come  under  my  own  observation,  in  which  men 
meet  by  appointment  to  settle  a  matter,  and  then  seem 
afraid  to  cope  with  it,  and  talk  about  indifferent  sub- 
jects with  a  half- conscious  intention  of  postponing  the 
difficult  one  till  there  is  no  longer  time  to  deal  with  it 


356  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

on  that  day.  They  then  say,  when  the}''  separate, 
uWe  will  settle  that  matter  by  correspondence,"  as 
if  they  could  not  have  done  so  just  as  easily  without 
giving  themselves  the  trouble  of  meeting.  In  such 
cases  as  these  the  reason  for  avoiding  the  difficult  sub- 
ject is  either  timidity  or  indolence.  Either  the  parties 
do  not  like  to  face  each  other  in  an  opposition  that 
may  become  a  verbal  combat,  or  else  they  have  not 
decision  and  industry  enough  to  do  a  hard  day's  work 
together ;  so  they  procrastinate,  that  they  may  spread 
the  work  over  a  larger  space  of  time. 

The  timidity  that  shrinks  from  a  personal  encounter 
is  sometimes  the  cause  of  hostile  letter- writing  about 
matters  of  business  even  when  personal  interviews  are 
most  easy.  There  are  instances  of  disputes  by  letter 
between  people  who  live  in  the  same  town,  in  the  same 
street,  and  even  in  the  same  house,  and  who  might 
quarrel  with  their  tongues  if  they  were  not  afraid,  but 
fear  drives  them  to  fight  from  a  certain  distance,  as  it 
requires  less  personal  courage  to  fire  a  cannon  at  an 
enemy  a  league  away  than  to  face  his  naked  sword. 

Timidity  leads  people  to  write  letters  and  to  avoid 
them.  Some  timorous  people  feel  bolder  with  a  pen ; 
others,  on  the  contrary,  are  extremely  afraid  of  com- 
mitting anything  to  paper,  either  because  written  words 
remain  and  may  be  referred  to  afterwards,  or  because 
they  may  be  read  by  eyes  they  were  never  intended 
for,  or  else  because  the  letter- writer  feels  doubtful 
about  his  own  powers  in  composition,  grammar,  or 
spelling. 

Of  these  reasons  against  doing  business  by  letter  the 


LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS.  357 

second  is  really  serious.  You  write  about  your  most 
strictly  private  affairs,  and  unless  the  receiver  of  the 
letter  is  a  rigidly  careful  and  orderly  person,  it  may 
be  read  by  his  clerks  or  servants.  You  may  afterwards 
visit  the  recipient  and  find  the  letter  lying  about  on  a 
disorderly  desk,  or  stuck  on  a  hook  suspended  from  a 
wall,  or  thrust  into  a  lockless  drawer ;  and  as  the  letter 
is  no  longer  your  property,  and  you  have  not  the  re- 
source of  destroying  it,  you  will  keenly  appreciate  the 
wisdom  of  those  who  avoid  letter-writing  when  they 
can. 

The  other  cause  of  timidity,  the  apprehension  that 
some  fault  may  be  committed,  some  sin  against  liter- 
ary taste  or  grammatical  rule,  has  a  powerful  effect  as 
a  deterrent  from  even  necessary  business  correspond- 
ence. The  fear  which  a  half-educated  person  feels  that 
he  will  commit  faults  causes  a  degree  of  hesitation 
which  is  enough  of  itself  to  produce  them  ;  and  besides 
this  cause  of  error  there  is  the  want  of  practice,  also 
caused  by  timidity,  for  persons  who  dread  letter-writing 
practise  it  as  little  as  possible. 

The  awkwardness  of  uneducated  letter-writers  is  a 
most  serious  cause  of  anxiety  to  people  who  are  com- 
pelled to  intrust  the  care  of  things  to  uneducated  de- 
pendants at  a  distance.  Such  care-takers,  instead  of 
keeping  you  regularly  informed  of  the  state  of  affairs 
as  an  intelligent  correspondent  would,  write  rarefy, 
and  they  have  such  difficulty  in  imagining  the  neces- 
sary ignorance  of  one  who  is  not  on  the  spot,  that  the 
information  they  give  you  is  provokingly  incomplete  on 
some  most  important  points. 


358  LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS. 

An  uneducated  agent  will  write  to  you  and  tell  you, 
for  example,  that  damage  has  occurred  to  something 
of  y ours,  say  a  house,  a  carriage,  or  a  yacht,  but  he 
will  not  tell  you  its  exact  nature  or  extent,  and  he  will 
leave  you  in  a  state  of  anxious  conjecture.  If  you 
question  him  by  letter,  he  will  probably  miss  what  is 
most  essential  in  your  questions,  so  that  you  will  have 
great  difficulty  in  getting  at  the  exact  truth.  After 
much  trouble  you  will  perhaps  have  to  take  the  train 
and  go  to  see  the  extent  of  damage  for  yourself,  though 
it  might  have  been  described  to  you  quite  accurately 
in  a  short  letter  by  an  intelligent  man  of  business. 

Nothing  is  more  wonderful  than  the  mistakes  in  fol- 
lowing written  directions  that  can  be  committed  by 
uneducated  me^n.  With  clear  directions  in  the  most 
legible  characters  before  their  eyes  they  will  quietly  go 
and  do  something  entirely  different,  and  appear  un- 
feignedly  surprised  when  }'ou  show  them  the  written 
directions  afterwards.  In  these  cases  it  is  probable 
that  they  have  unconsciously  substituted  a  notion  of 
their  own  for  your  idea,  which  is  the  common  process 
of  what  the  uneducated  consider  to  be  understanding 
things. 

The  extreme  facility  with  which  this  is  done  may  be 
illustrated  by  an  example.  The  well-known  French 
savant  and  inventor,  Ruolz,  whose  name  is  famous  in 
connection  with  electro-plating,  turned  his  attention  to 
paper  for  roofing  and,  as  he  perceived  the  defects  of 
the  common  bituminous  papers,  invented  another  in 
which  no  bitumen  was  employed.  This  he  advertised 
constantly  and  extensively  as  the  "  Carton  non  bitume 


LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS.  359 

Ruolz,"  consequently  every  one  calls  it  the  "  Carton 
bitume  Ruolz. *'  The  reason  here  is  that  the  notion  of 
papers  for  roofs  was  already  so  associated  in  the  French 
mind  with  bitumen,  that  it  was  absolutely  impossible 
to  effect  the  disjunction  of  the  two  ideas. 

Instances  have  occurred  to  everybody  in  which  the 
consequence  of  warning  a  workman  that  he  is  not  to 
do  some  particular  thing,  is  that  he  goes  and  does  it, 
when  if  nothing  had  been  said  on  the  subject  he  might, 
perchance,  have  avoided  it.  Here  are  two  good  in- 
stances of  this,  but  I  have  met  with  many  others.  I 
remember  ordering  a  binder  to  bind  some  volumes  with 
red  edges,  specially  stipulating  that  he  was  not  to  use 
aniline  red.  He  therefore  carefully  stained  the  edges 
with  aniline.  I  also  remember  writing  to  a  painter  that 
he  was  to  stain  some  new  fittings  of  a  boat  with  a  trans- 
parent glaze  of  raw  sienna,  and  afterwards  varnish 
them,  and  that  he  was  to  be  careful  not  to  use  opaque 
paint  anywhere.  I  was  at  a  great  distance  from  the 
boat  and  could  not  superintend  the  work.  In  due  time 
I  visited  the  boat  and  discovered  that  a  foul  tint  of 
opaque  paint  had  been  employed  everywhere  on  the 
new  fittings,  without  any  glaze  or  varnish  whatever, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  old  fittings,  partially  retained, 
were  still  there,  with  mellow  transparent  stain  and  var- 
nish, in  the  closest  juxtaposition  with  the  hideous  thick 
new  daubing. 

It  is  the  evil  of  mediocrity  in  fortune  to  have  fre- 
quently to  trust  to  uneducated  agents.  Rich  men  can 
employ  able  representatives,  and  in  this  way  they  can 
inform  themselves  accurately  of  what  occurs  to  their 


360  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

belongings  at  a  distance.  Without  riches,  however,  we 
may  sometimes  have  a  friend  on  the  spot  who  will  see 
to  things  for  us,  which  is  one  of  the  kindest  offices  of 
friendship.  The  most  efficient  friend  is  one  who  will 
not  only  look  to  matters  of  detail,  but  will  take  the 
trouble  to  inform  }'ou  accurately  about  them,  and  for 
this  he  must  be  a  man  of  leisure.  Such  a  friend  often 
spares  one  a  railway  journey  by  a  few  clear  lines  of 
report  or  explanation.  Judging  from  personal  experi- 
ence, I  should  say  that  retired  lawyers  and  retired  mili- 
tary officers  were  admirably  adapted  to  render  this  great 
service  efficiently,  and  I  should  suppose  that  a  man  who 
had  retired  from  bus}7  commercial  life  would  be  scarcely 
less  useful,  but  I  should  not  hope  for  precision  in  one 
who  had  alwajTs  been  unoccupied,  nor  should  I  expect 
many  details  from  one  who  was  much  occupied  still. 
The  first  would  lack  training  and  experience ;  the  sec- 
ond would  lack  leisure. 

The  talent  for  accuracy  in  affairs  may  be  distinct 
from  literary  talent  and  education,  and  though  we  have 
been  considering  the  difficult}^  of  corresponding  on 
matters  of  business  with  the  uneducated,  we  must  not 
too  hastity  infer  that  because  a  man  is  inaccurate  in 
spelling,  and  inelegant  in  phraseology,  he  may  not  be 
an  agreeable  and  efficient  business  correspondent. 
There  was  a  time  when  all  the  greatest  men  of  busi- 
ness in  England  were  uncertain  spellers.  Clear  expres- 
sion and  completeness  of  statement  are  more  valuable 
than  any  other  qualities  in  a  business  correspondent. 
I  sometimes  have  to  correspond  with  a  tradesman  in 
Paris  who  rose  from  an  humble  origin  and  scarcely 


LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS.  361 

produces  what  a  schoolmaster  would  consider  a  pass- 
able letter ;  yet  his  letters  are  models  in  essential  qual- 
ities, as  he  always  removes  by  plain  statements  or 
questions  every  possibility  of  a  mistake,  and  if  there 
is  any  want  of  absolute  precision  in  my  orders  he  is 
sure  to  find  out  the  deficiency,  and  to  call  my  attention 
to  it  sharpty. 

The  habit  of  not  acknowledging  orders  is  one  of  the 
worst  negative  vices  in  business  correspondence.  It  is 
most  inconveniently  common  in  France,  but  happily 
much  rarer  in  England.  Where  this  vice  prevails  you 
cannot  tell  whether  the  person  you  wish  to  employ  has 
read  your  order  or  not ;  and  if  you  suppose  him  to  have 
read  it,  }TOU  have  no  reason  to  feel  sure  that  he  has 
understood  it,  or  will  execute  it  in  time. 

It  is  a  great  gain  to  the  writer  of  letters  to  be  able 
to  make  them  brief  and  clear  at  the  same  time,  but  as 
there  is  obscurity  in  a  labyrinth  of  many  words  so  there 
may  be  another  kind  of  obscurity  from  their  paucity,  — 
that  kind  which  Horace  alluded  to  with  reference  to 

poetry,  — 

"  Brevis  esse  laboro 
Obscurus  fio." 

Sometimes  one  additional  word  would  spare  the 
reader  a  doubt  or  a  misunderstanding.  This  is  likely 
to  become  more  and  more  the  dominant  fault  of  corre- 
spondence as  it  imitates  the  brevity  of  the  telegram. 

Observe  the  interesting  use  of  the  word  laboro  by 
Horace.  You  may,  in  fact,  labor  to  be  brief,  although 
the  result  is  an  appearance  of  less  labor  than  if  you  had 
written  at  ease.  It  may  take  more  time  to  write  a  very 


362  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

short  letter  than  one  of  twice  the  length,  the  only  gain 
in  this  case  being  to  the  receiver. 

Letters  of  business  often  appear  to  be  written  in  the 
most  rapid  and  careless  haste ;  the  writing  is  almost 
illegible  from  its  speed,  the  composition  slovenly,  the 
letter  brief.  And  yet  such  a  letter  may  have  cost 
hours  of  deliberate  reflection  before  one  word  of  it  was 
committed  to  paper.  It  is  the  rapid  registering  of  a 
slowly  matured  decision. 

It  is  a  well-known  principle  of  modern  business  cor- 
respondence that  if  a  letter  refers  only  to  one  subject 
it  is  more  likely  to  receive  attention  than  if  it  deals 
with  several;  therefore  if  you  have  several  different 
orders  or  directions  to  give  it  is  bad  policy  to  write 
them  all  at  once,  unless  you  are  absolutely  compelled 
to  do  so  because  they  are  all  equally  pressing.  Even 
if  there  is  the  same  degree  of  urgency  for  all,  yet  a 
practical  impossibility  that  all  should  be  executed  at 
the  same  time,  it  is  still  the  best  policy  to  give  your 
orders  successively  and  not  more  quickly  than  they  can 
be  executed.  The  only  danger  of  this  is  that  the  re- 
ceiver of  the  orders  may  think  at  first  that  they  are 
small  matters  in  which  postponement  signifies  little,  as 
they  can  be  executed  at  any  time.  To  prevent  this  he 
should  be  strongly  warned  at  first  that  the  order  will 
be  rapidly  followed  by  several  others.  If  there  is  not 
the  same  degree  of  urgency  for  all,  the  best  way  is  to 
make  a  private  register  of  the  different  matters  in  the 
order  of  their  urgency,  and  then  to  write  several  short 
notes,  at  intervals,  one  about  each  thing. 

People  have  such  a  marvellous  power  of  misunder- 


LETTERS  OF  BUSINESS.  3G3 

standing  even  the  very  plainest  directions  that  a  business 
letter  never  can  be  made  too  clear.  It  will,  indeed, 
frequently  happen  that  language  itself  is  not  clear 
enough  for  the  purposes  of  explanation  without  the 
help  of  drawing,  and  drawing  may  not  be  clear  to  one 
who  has  not  been  educated  to  understand  it,  which 
compels  you  to  have  recourse  to  modelling.  In  these 
cases  the  task  of  the  letter- writer  is  greatljr  simplified, 
as  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  foresee  and  prevent  any 
misunderstanding  of  the  drawing  or  model. 

Every  material  thing  constructed  by  mankind  ma}' 
be  explained  by  the  three  kinds  of  mechanical  drawing, 
—  plan,  section,  and  elevation,  —  but  the  difficult}',  is 
that  so  man}T  people  are  unable  to  understand  plans  and 
sections ;  they  only  understand  elevations,  and  not 
always  even  these.  The  special  incapacity  to  under- 
stand plans  and  sections  is  common  in  every  rank  of 
society,  and  it  is  not  uncommon  even  in  the  practical 
trades.  All  letter-writing  that  refers  to  material  con- 
struction would  be  immensely  simplified  if,  by  a  general 
rule  in  popular  and  other  education,  every  future  man 
and  woman  in  the  country  were  taught  enough  about 
mechanical  drawing  to  be  able  at  least  to  read  it. 

It  is  delightful  to  correspond  about  construction  with 
any  trained  architect  or  engineer,  because  to  such  a 
correspondent  you  can  explain  everything  briefly,  with 
the  perfect  certainty  of  being  accurately  understood. 
It  is  terrible  toil  to  have  to  explain  construction  by 
letter  to  a  man  who  does  not  understand  mechanical 
drawing  ;  and  when  you  have  given  great  labor  to  your 
explanation,  it  is  the  merest  chance  whether  he  will 


364  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

catch  your  meaning  or  not.  The  evil  does  not  stop  at 
mechanical  drawing.  Not  only  do  uneducated  people 
misunderstand  a  mechanical  plan  or  section,  but  they 
are  quite  as  liable  to  misunderstand  a  perspective  draw- 
ing, as  the  great  architect  and  draughtsman  Viollet-le- 
Duc  charmingly  exemplified  by  the  work  of  an  intelligent 
child.  A  little  boy  had  drawn  a  cat  as  he  had  seen  it  in 
front  with  its  tail  standing  up,  and  this  front  view  was 
stupidty  misunderstood  by  a  mature  bourgeois,  who 
thought  the  animal  was  a  biped  (as  the  hind-legs  were 
hidden),  and  believed  the  erect  tail  to  be  some  unknown 
object  sticking  out  of  the  nondescript  creature's  head. 
If  you  draw  a  board  in  perspective  (other  than  iso- 
metrical)  a  workman  is  quite  likely  to  think  that  one 
end  of  it  is  to  be  narrower  than  the  other. 

Business  correspondence  in  foreign  languages  is  a 
ver}'  simple  matter  when  it  deals  only  with  plain  facts, 
and  it  does  not  require  any  very  extensive  knowledge  of 
the  foreign  tongue  to  write  a  common  order ;  but  if  any 
delicate  or  complicated  matter  has  to  be  explained,  or  if 
touchy  sensitiveness  in  the  foreigner  has  to  be  soothed 
by  management  and  tact,  then  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  shades  of  expression  is  required,  and  this  is  ex- 
tremely rare.  The  statement  of  bare  facts,  or  the  utter- 
ance of  simple  wants,  is  indeed  only  a  part  of  business 
correspondence,  for  men  of  business,  though  they  are 
not  supposed  to  displa}T  sentiment  in  affairs,  are  in 
reality  just  as  much  human  beings  as  other  men,  and 
consequently  they  have  feelings  which  are  to  be  con- 
sidered. A  correspondent  who  is  able  to  write  a  foreign 
language  with  delicacy  and  tact  will  often  attain  his 


LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS.  365 

object  when  one  with  a  ruder  and  more  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  language  would  meet  with  certain  failure, 
though  he  asked  for  exactl}'  the  same  thing. 

It  is  surety  possible  to  be  civil  and  even  polite  in 
business  correspondence  without  using  the  deplorable 
commercial  slang  which  exists,  I  believe,  in  every 
modern  language.  The  proof  that  such  abstinence  is 
possible  is  that  some  of  the  most  efficient  and  most 
active  men  of  business  never  have  recourse  to  it  at  all. 
This  commercial  slang  consists  in  the  substitution  of 
conventional  terms  originally  intended  to  be  more  cour- 
teous than  plain  English,  French,  etc.,  but  which,  in 
fact,  from  their  mechanical  use,  become  wholly  destitute 
of  that  best  politeness  which  is  personal,  and  does  not 
depend  upon  set  phrases  that  can  be  copied  out  of  a 
tradesman's  model  letter-writer.  Anybod}'  but  a  trades- 
man calls  your  letter  a  letter ;  why  should  an  English 
tradesman  call  it  "  your  favor,"  and  a  French  one 
u  votre  honoree  "f  A  gentleman  writing  in  the  month 
of  Ma}'  speaks  of  April,  May,  and  June,  when  a  trades- 
man carefully  avoids  the  names  of  the  months,  and 
calls  them  ultimo,  courant,  &ndproximo  ;  whilst  instead 
of  saying  "  by"  or  "  according  to,"  like  other  English- 
men, he  says  per.  This  style  was  touched  upon  by 
Scott  in  Provost  Crosbie's  letter  to  Alexander  Fairford : 
u  Dear  Sir — Your  respected  favor  of  25th  ultimo,  per 
favor  of  Mr.  Darsie  Latimer,  reached  me  in  safety." 
This  is  thought  to  be  a  finished  commercial  style.  One 
sometimes  meets  with  the  most  astonishing  and  com- 
plicated specimens  of  it,  which  the  authors  are  evidently 
proud  of  as  proofs  of  their  high  commercial  training. 


366  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

I  regret  not  to  have  kept  some  fine  examples  of  these, 
as  their  perfections  are  far  beyond  all  imitation.  This  is 
not  surprising  when  we  reflect  that  the  very  worst  com- 
mercial style  is  the  result  of  a  striving  by  many  minds, 
during  several  generations,  after  a  preposterous  ideal. 

Tradesmen  deserve  credit  for  understanding  the  one 
element  of  courtesy  in  letter-writing  which  has  been 
neglected  by  gentlemen.  They  value  legible  hand- 
writing, and  they  print  clear  names  and  addresses  on 
their  letter-paper,  by  which  they  spare  much  trouble. 

Before  closing  this  chapter  let  me  say  something 
about  the  reading  of  business  letters  as  well  as  the 
writing  of  them.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  harder  duty  to  read 
such  letters  with  the  necessary  degree  of  attention  than 
to  compose  them,  for  the  author  has  his  head  charged 
with  the  subject,  and  writing  the  letter  is  a  relief  to 
him  ;  but  to  the  receiver  the  matter  is  new,  and  however 
lucid  may  be  the  exposition  it  always  requires  some 
degree  of  real  attention  on  his  part.  How  are  you, 
being  at  a  distance,  to  get  an  indolent  man  to  bestow 
that  necessary  attention?  He  feels  secure  from  a  per- 
sonal visit,  and  indulges  his  indolence  by  neglecting 
your  concerns,  even  when  they  are  also  his  own.  Long 
ago  I  heard  an  English  Archdeacon  tell  the  following 
story  about  his  Bishop.  The  prelate  was  one  of  that 
numerous  class  of  men  who  loathe  the  sight  of  a  busi- 
ness letter ;  and  he  had  indulged  his  indolence  in  that 
respect  to  such  a  degree  that,  little  by  little,  he  had 
arrived  at  the  fatal  stage  where  one  leaves  letters 
unopened  for  days  or  weeks.  At  one  particular  time 
the  Archdeacon  was  aware  of  a  great  arrear  of  un- 


LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS.  367 

opened  letters,  and  impressed  his  lordship  with  the 
necessity  for  taking  some  note  of  their  contents.  Yield- 
ing to  a  stronger  will,  the  Bishop  began  to  read ;  and 
one  of  the  first  communications  was  from  a  wealthy 
man  who  offered  a  large  sum  for  church  purposes  (I 
think  for  building),  but  if  the  offer  was  not  accepted 
within  a  certain  lapse  of  time  he  declared  his  intention 
of  making  it  to  that  which  a  Bishop  loveth  not  —  a  dis- 
senting community.  The  prelate  had  opened  the  letter 
too  late,  and  he  lost  the  money.  I  believe  that  the 
Archdeacon's  vexation  at  the  loss  was  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  gratification  that  his  hierarchical 
superior  had  received  such  a  lesson  for  his  neglect. 
Yet  he  did  but  imitate  Napoleon,  of  whom  Emerson 
says,  "He  directed  Bourrienne  to  leave  all  letters  un- 
opened for  three  weeks,  and  then  observed  with  satis- 
faction how  large  a  part  of  the  correspondence  had 
disposed  of  itself  and  no  longer  required  an  answer." 
This  is  a  ver}*  unsafe  system  to  adopt,  as  the  case  of 
the  Bishop  proves.  Things  may  "dispose  of  them- 
selves "  in  the  wrong  way,  like  wine  in  a  leaky  cask, 
which,  instead  of  putting  itself  carefully  into  a  sound 
cask,  goes  trickling  into  the  earth. 

The  indolence  of  some  men  in  reading  and  answering 
letters  of  business  would  be  incredible  if  they  did  not 
give  clear  evidence  of  it.  The  most  remarkable  ex- 
ample that  ever  came  under  my  notice  is  the  following. 
A  French  artist,  not  by  any  means  in  a  condition  of 
superfluous  prosperity,  exhibited  a  picture  at  the  Salon. 
He  waited  in  Paris  till  after  the  opening  of  the  exhibi- 
tion and  then  went  down  into  the  country.  On  the  day 


868  LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS. 

of  his  departure  he  received  letters  from  two  different 
collectors  expressing  a  desire  to  purchase  his  work,  and 
asking  its  price.  Any  real  man  of  business  would  have 
seized  upon  such  an  opportunity  at  once.  He  would 
have  answered  both  letters,  stayed  in  town,  and  con- 
trived to  set  the  two  amateurs  bidding  against  each 
other.  The  artist  in  question  was  one  of  those  un- 
accountable mortals  who  would  rather  sacrifice  all  their 
chances  of  life  than  indite  a  letter  of  business,  so  he 
left  both  inquiries  unanswered,  saying  that  if  the  men 
had  really  wanted  the  picture  they  would  have  called 
to  see  him.  He  never  sold  it,  and  some  time  after- 
wards was  obliged  to  give  up  his  profession,  quite  as 
much  from  the  lack  of  promptitude  in  affairs  as  from 
any  artistic  deficiency. 

Sometimes  letters  of  business  are  read,  but  read  so 
carelessly  that  it  would  be  better  if  they  were  thrown 
unopened  into  the  fire.  I  have  seen  some  astounding 
instances  of  this,  and,  what  is  most  remarkable,  of 
repeated  and  incorrigible  carelessness  in  the  same  per- 
son or  firm,  compelling  one  to  the  conclusion  that  in 
corresponding  with  that  person  or  that  firm  the  clearest 
language,  the  plainest  writing,  and  the  most  legible 
numerals,  are  all  equally  without  effect.  I  am  thinking 
particularly  of  one  case,  intimately  known  to  me  in  all 
its  details,  in  which  a  business  correspondence  of  some 
duration  was  finally  abandoned,  after  infinite  annoy- 
ance, for  the  simple  reason  that  it  was  impossible  to 
get  the  members  of  the  firm,  or  their  representatives, 
to  attend  to  written  orders  with  any  degree  of  accuracy. 
Even  whilst  writing  this  very  Essay  I  have  given  an 


LETTERS   OF  BUSINESS.  369 

order  with  regard  to  which  I  foresaw  a  probable  error. 
Knowing  by  experience  that  a  probable  error  is  almost 
certain  if  steps  are  not  taken  energetically  to  prevent 
it,  I  requested  that  this  error  might  not  be  committed, 
and  to  attract  more  attention  to  my  request  I  wrote  the 
paragraph  containing  it  in  red  ink,  —  a  very  unusual  pre- 
caution. The  foreseen  error  was  accurately  committed. 


370  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 


ESSAY    XXV. 

ANONYMOUS   LETTERS. 

L^ROBABLY  few  of  my  mature  readers  have  attained 
middle  age  without  receiving  a  number  of  anony- 
mous letters.  Such  letters  are  not  always  offensive, 
sometimes  they  are  amusing,  sometimes  considerate 
and  kind,  yet  there  is  in  all  cases  a  feeling  of  annoy- 
ance on  receiving  them,  because  the  writer  has  made 
himself  inaccessible  to  a  reply.  It  is  as  if  a  man  in  a 
mask  whispered  a  word  in  your  ear  and  then  vanished 
suddenly  in  a  crowd.  You  wish  to  answer  a  calumny 
or  acknowledge  a  kindness,  and  you  may  talk  to  the 
winds  and  streams. 

Anonymous  letters  of  the  worst  kind  have  a  certain 
value  to  the  student  of  human  nature,  because  they 
afford  him  glimpses  of  the  evil  spirit  that  disguises 
itself  under  the  fair  seemings  of  society.  You  believe 
with  childlike  simplicity  and  innocence  that,  as  you 
have  never  done  any  intentional  injury  to  a  human 
being,  you  cannot  have  a  human  enemy,  and  you  make 
the  startling  disco  very  that  somewhere  in  the  world, 
perhaps  even  amongst  the  smiling  people  you  meet  at 
dances  and  dinners,  there  are  creatures  who  will  have 
recourse  to  the  foulest  slanders  if  thereby  they  may 
hope  to  do  3rou  an  injurj\  What  can  you  have  done 
to  excite  such  bitter  animosity  ?  You  may  both  have 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  371 

done  much  and  neglected  much.  You  may  have  had 
some  superiority  of  body,  mind,  or  fortune ;  you  may 
have  neglected  to  soothe  some  jealous  vanity  by  the 
flattery  it  craved  with  a  tormenting  hunger. 

The  simple  fact  that  you  seem  happier  than  Envy 
thinks  you  ought  to  be  is  of  itself  enough  to  excite  a 
strong  desire  to  diminish  your  offensive  happiness  or 
put  an  end  to  it  entirely.  That  is  the  reason  why 
people  who  are  going  to  be  married  receive  anonymous 
letters.  If  they  are  not  really  happy  they  have  every 
appearance  of  being  happy,  which  is  not  less  intolera- 
ble. The  anonymous  letter- writer  seeks  to  put  a  stop 
to  such  a  state  of  things.  He  might  go  to  one  of  the 
parties  and  slander  the  other  openly,  but  it  would  re- 
quire courage  to  do  that  directly  to  his  face.  A  letter 
might  be  written,  but  if  name  and  address  were  given 
there  would  come  an  inconvenient  demand  for  proofs. 
One  course  remains,  offering  that  immunity  from  conse- 
quences which  is  soothing  to  the  nerves  of  a  coward. 
The  envious  or  jealous  man  can  throw  his  vitriol  in  the 
dark  and  slip  away  unperceived  —  he  can  write  an 
anonymous  letter. 

Has  the  reader  ever  really  tried  to  picture  to  himself 
the  state  of  that  man's  or  woman's  mind  (for  women 
write  these  things  also)  who  can  sit  down,  take  a  sheet 
of  paper,  make  a  rough  draft  of  an  anonymous  letter, 
copy  it  out  in  a  very  legible  yet  carefully  disguised 
hand,  and  make  arrangements  for  having  it  posted  at 
a  distance  from  the  place  where  it  was  written?  Such 
things  are  constantly  done.  At  this  minute  there  are 
a  certain  number  of  men  and  women  in  the  world  who 


372  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

are  vile  enough  to  do  all  that  simply  in  order  to  spoil 
the  happiness  of  some  person  whom  they  regard  with 
"envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness."  I 
see  in  my  mind's  eye  the  gentleman  —  the  man  having 
all  the  apparent  delicacy  and  refinement  of  a  gentleman 
—  who  is  writing  a  letter  intended  to  blast  the  char- 
acter of  an  acquaintance.  Perhaps  he  meets  that  ac- 
quaintance in  society,  and  shakes  hands  with  him,  and 
pretends  to  take  an  interest  in  his  health.  Meanwhile 
he  secretly  reflects  upon  the  particular  sort  of  calumny 
that  will  have  the  greatest  degree  of  verisimilitude. 
Ever}*thing  depends  upon  his  talent  in  devising  the 
most  credible  sort  of  calumny,  —  not  the  calumny  most 
likely  to  meet  general  credence,  but  that  which  is  most 
likely  to  be  believed  by  the  person  to  whom  it  is  ad- 
dressed, and  most  likely  to  do  injury  when  believed. 
The  anonymous  calumniator  has  the  immense  advan- 
tage on  his  side  that  most  people  are  prone  to  believe 
evil,  and  that  good  people  are  unfortunately  the  most 
prone,  as  they  hate  evil  so  intensely  that  even  the  very 
phantom  of  it  arouses  their  anger,  and  they  too  fre- 
quently do  not  stop  to  inquire  whether  it  is  a  phantom 
or  a  reality.  The  clever  calumniator  is  careful  not 
to  go  too  far ;  he  will  advance  something  that  might 
be  or  that  might  have  been  ;  he  does  not  love  le  vrai, 
but  he  is  a  careful  student  of  le  vraisemblable.  He 
will  assume  an  appearance  of  reluctance,  he  will  drop 
hints  more  terrible  than  assertions,  because  they  are 
vague,  mysterious,  disquieting.  When  he  thinks  he 
has  done  enough  he  stops  in  time;  he  has  inoculated 
the  drop  of  poison,  and  can  wait  till  it  takes  effect 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  373 

It  must  be  rather  an  anxious  time  for  the  anonymous 
letter-writer  when  he  has  sent  off  his  missive.  In  the 
nature  of  things  he  cannot  receive  an  answer,  and  it 
is  not  easy  for  him  to  ascertain  very  soon  what  has 
been  the  result  of  his  enterprise.  If  he  has  been  try- 
ing to  prevent  a  marriage  he  does  not  know  immedi- 
ately if  the  engagement  is  broken  off,  and  if  it  is  not 
broken  off  he  has  to  wait  till  the  wedding-day  before 
he  is  quite  sure  of  his  own  failure,  and  to  suffer  mean- 
while from  hope  deferred  and  constant!}'  increasing  ap- 
prehension. If  the  rupture  occurs  he  has  a  moment  of 
Satanic  joy,  but  it  may  be  due  to  some  other  cause 
than  the  success  of  his  own  calumny,  so  that  he  is 
never  quite  sure  of  having  himself  attained  his  object. 

It  is  believed  that  most  people  who  are  engaged  to 
be  married  receive  anon3*mous  letters  recommending 
them  to  break  off  the  match.  Not  only  are  such  letters 
addressed  to  the  betrothed  couple  themselves,  but  also 
to  their  relations.  If  there  is  not  a  doubt  that  the 
statements  in  such  letters  are  purely  calumnious,  the 
right  course  is  to  destroy  them  immediately  and  never 
allude  to  them  afterwards ;  but  if  there  is  the  faintest 
shadow  of  a  doubt  —  if  there  is  the  vaguest  feeling  that 
there  may  be  some  ground  for  the  attack  —  then  the  only 
course  is  to  send  the  letter  to  the  person  accused,  and 
to  say  that  this  is  done  in  order  to  afford  him  an  oppor- 
tunit}'  for  answering  the  anonymous  assailant.  I  re- 
member a  case  in  which  this  was  done  with  the  best 
results.  A  professional  man  without  fortune  was  going 
to  marry  a  young  heiress  ;  I  do  not  mean  a  great  heir- 
ess, but  one  whose  fortune  might  be  a  temptation. 


374  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

Her  family  received  the  usual  anonymous  letters,  and 
in  one  of  them  it  was  stated  that  the  aspirant's  father, 
who  had  been  long  dead,  had  dishonored  himself  by 
base  conduct  with  regard  to  a  public  trust  in  a  certain 
town  where  he  occupied  a  post  of  great  responsibility 
towards  the  municipal  authorities.  The  letter  was 
shown  to  the  son,  and  he  was  asked  if  he  knew  any- 
thing of  the  matter,  and  if  he  could  do  anything  to 
clear  awajr  the  imputation.  Then  came  the  difficulty 
that  the  alleged  betrayal  of  trust  was  stated  to  have 
occurred  twenty  years  before,  and  that  the  Mayor  was 
dead,  and  probably  most  of  the  common  councillors 
also.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  It  is  not  easy  to  dis- 
prove a  calumny,  and  the  onus  of  proof  ought  always 
to  be  thrown  upon  the  calumniator,  but  this  calumnia- 
tor was  anonymous  and  intangible,  so  the  son  of  the 
victim  was  requested  to  repel  the  charge.  By  a  very 
unusual  and  most  fortunate  accident,  his  father  had 
received  on  quitting  the  town  in  question  a  letter  from 
the  Maj'or  of  a  most  exceptional  character,  in  which 
he  spoke  with  warm  and  grateful  appreciation  of  ser- 
vices rendered  and  of  the  happy  relations  of  trust  and 
confidence  that  had  subsisted  beiween  himself  and  the 
slandered  man  down  to  the  very  termination  of  their 
intercourse.  This  letter,  again  by  a  most  lucky  acci- 
dent, had  been  preserved  by  the  widow,  and  by  means 
of  it  one  dead  man  defended  the  memory  of  another. 
It  removed  the  greatest  obstacle  to  the  marriage ;  but 
another  anonymous  writer,  or  the  same  in  another 
handwriting,  now  alleged  that  the  slandered  man  had 
died  of  a  disease  likely  to  be  inherited  by  his  posterity 

- 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  375 

Here,  again,  luck  was  on  the  side  of  the  defence,  as 
the  physician  who  had  attended  him  was  still  alive,  so 
that  this  second  invention  was  as  easity  disposed  of 
as  the  first.  The  marriage  took  place  ;  it  has  been 
more  than  usually  happy,  and  the  children  are  pictures 
of  health. 

The  trouble  to  which  anonymous  letter-writers  put 
themselves  to  attain  their  ends  must  sometimes  be  ver}T 
great.  I  remember  a  case  in  which  some  of  these 
people  must  have  contrived  by  means  of  spies  or  agents 
to  procure  a  private  address  in  a  foreign  country,  and 
must  have  been  at  great  pains  also  to  ascertain  certain 
facts  in  England  which  were  carefully  mingled  with  the 
lies  in  the  calumnious  letter.  The  nameless  writer  was 
evidently  well  informed,  possibly  he  or  she  may  have 
been  a  "friend"  of  the  intended  victim.  In  this  case 
no  attention  was  paid  to  the  attack,  which  did  not 
delay  the  marriage  by  a  single  hour.  Long  afterwards 
the  married  pair  happened  to  be  talking  about  anony- 
mous letters,  and  it  then  appeared  that  each  side 
had  received  several  of  these  missives,  coarsely  or  in- 
geniously concocted,  but  had  given  them  no  more 
attention  than  they  deserved. 

An  anonymous  letter  is  sometimes  written  in  col- 
laboration by  two  persons  of  different  degrees  of  ability. 
When  this  is  done  one  of  the  slanderers  generally  sup- 
plies the  basis  of  fact  necessary  to  give  an  appearance 
of  knowledge,  and  the  other  supplies  or  improves  the 
imaginative  part  of  the  common  performance  and  its 
literary  style.  Sometimes  one  of  the  two  may  be 
detected  by  the  nature  of  the  references  to  fact,  or  by 


376  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

the  supposed  writer's  personal  interest  in  bringing  about 
a  certain  result. 

It  is  very  difficult  at  the  first  glance  entirely  to  resist 
the  effect  of  a  clever  anonymous  letter,  and  perhaps  it 
is  only  men  of  clear  strong  sense  and  long  experience 
who  at  once  overcome  the  first  shock.  In  a  ver}r  short 
time,  however,  the  phantom  evil  grows  thin  and  dis- 
appears, and  the  motive  of  the  writer  is  guessed  at  or 
discerned. 

The  following  brief  anonymous  letter  or  one  closely 
resembling  it  (I  quote  from  memory)  was  once  received 
by  an  English  gentleman  on  his  travels. 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  congratulate  you  on  the  fact  that  you  will 
be  a  grandfather  in  about  two  months.  I  mention  this  as  you 
may  like  to  purchase  baby-linen  for  your  grandchild  during 
your  absence.  I  am,  Sir,  yours  sincerely, 

"A  WELL-WISHER." 

The  receiver  had  a  family  of  grown-up  children  of 
whom  not  one  was  married.  The  letter  gave  him  a 
slight  but  perceptible  degree  of  disquietude  which  he 
put  aside  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  In  a  few  days  came 
a  signed  letter  from  one  of  his  female  servants  confess- 
ing that  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother,  and  claiming 
his  protection  as  the  grandfather  of  the  child.  It  then 
became  evident  that  the  anonymous  letter  had  been 
written  by  the  girl's  lover,  who  was  a  tolerably  educated 
man  whilst  she  was  uneducated,  and  that  the  pair  had 
entered  into  this  little  plot  to  obtain  money.  The 
matter  ended  by  the  dismissal  of  the  girl,  who  then 
made  threats  until  she  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
police.  Other  circumstances  were  recollected  proving 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  377 

her  to  be  a  remarkably  audacious  liar  and  of  a  slander- 
ous disposition. 

The  torture  that  an  anonymous  letter  ma}'  inflict 
depends  far  more  on  the  nature  of  the  person  who 
receives  it  than  on  the  circumstances  it  relates.  A 
ealous  and  suspicious  nature,  not  opened  by  much  ex- 
perience or  knowledge  of  the  world,  is  the  predes- 
tined victim  of  the  anonymous  torturer.  Such  a  nature 
jumps  at  evil  report  like  a  fish  at  an  artificial  fly,  and 
feels  the  anguish  of  it  immediately.  By  a  law  that 
seems  really  cruel  such  natures  seize  with  most  avidity 
on  those  very  slanders  that  cause  them  the  most  pain. 

A  kind  of  anonymous  letter  of  which  we  have  heard 
much  in  the  present  disturbed  state  of  European  society 
is  the  letter  containing  threats  of  physical  injury.  It 
informs  you  that  }*ou  will  be  "  done  for  "  or  "  disabled  " 
in  a  short  time,  and  exhorts  }rou  in  the  meanwhile  to 
prepare  for  your  awful  doom.  The  object  of  these 
letters  is  to  deprive  the  receiver  of  all  feeling  of  security 
or  comfort  in  existence.  His  consolation  is  that  a  real 
intending  murderer  would  probably  be  thinking  too  much 
of  his  own  perilous  enterprise  to  indulge  in  correspond- 
ence about  it,  and  we  do  not  perceive  that  the  attacks 
on  public  men  are  at  all  proportionate  in  number  to  the 
menaces  addressed  to  them. 

As  there  are  malevolent  anon3'mous  letters  intended 
to  inflict  the  most  wearing  anxiety,  so  there  are  benevo- 
lent ones  written  to  save  our  souls.  Some  theologically 
minded  person,  often  of  the  female  sox,  is  alarmed  ioj 
our  spiritual  state  because  she  fears  that  we  have  doubts 
about  the  supernatural,  and  so  she  sends  us  books  that 


378  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

only  make  us  wonder  at  the  mental  condition  for  which 
such  literature  can  be  suitable.  I  remember  one  of  my 
female  anonymous  correspondents  who  took  it  for 
granted  that  I  was  like  a  ship  drifting  about  without 
compass  or  rudder  (a  great  mistake  on  her  part) ,  and 
so  she  offered  me  the  safe  and  spacious  haven  ot 
Swedenborgianism !  Others  will  teh1  you  of  the  "  great 
pain  "  with  which  they  have  read  this  or  that  passage 
of  your  writings,  to  which  an  author  may  always  reply 
that  as  there  is  no  Act  of  Parliament  compelling  British 
subjects  to  read  his  books  the  sufferers  have  only  to  let 
them  alone  in  order  to  spare  themselves  the  dolorous 
sensations  they  complain  of. 

Some  kind  anonymous  correspondents  write  to  con- 
sole us  for  offensive  criticism  by  maintaining  the  truth 
of  our  assertions  as  supported  by  their  own  experience. 
I  remember  that  when  the  novel  of  "  Wenderholme  "  was 
published,  and  naturally  attacked  for  its  dreadful  por- 
traiture of  the  drinking  habits  of  a  past  generation,  a 
lady  wrote  to  me  anonymously  from  a  locality  of  the 
kind  described  bearing  mournful  witness  to  the  veracity 
of  the  description.1  In  this  case  the  employment  of 
the  anonymous  form  was  justified  by  two  considerations. 
There  was  no  offensive  intention,  and  the  lady  had  to 
speak  of  her  own  relations  whose  names  she  desired  to 
conceal.  Authors  frequently  receive  letters  of  gently 

1  I  need  hardly  say  that  there  has  been  immense  improvement 
in  this  respect,  and  that  such  descriptions  have  no  application  to 
the  Lancashire  of  to-day;  indeed,  they  were  never  true,  in  that 
extreme  degree,  of  Lancashire  generally,  but  only  of  certain  small 
localities  which  were  at  one  time  like  spots  of  local  disease  on  a 
generally  vigorous  body. 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  379 

expressed  criticism  or  remonstrance  from  readers  who 
do  not  give  their  names.  The  only  objection  to  these 
communications,  which  are  often  interesting,  is  that  it 
is  rather  teasing  and  vexatious  to  be  deprived  of  the 
opportunity  for  answering  them.  The  reader  may  like 
to  see  one  of  these  gentle  anonymous  letters.  An  un- 
married lady  of  mature  age  (for  there  appears  to  be  no 
reason  to  doubt  the  veracity  with  which  she  gives  a 
slight  account  of  herself)  has  been  reading  one  of  my 
books  and  thinks  me  not  quite  just  to  a  most  respect- 
able and  by  no  means  insignificant  class  in  English 
society.  She  therefore  takes  me  to  task,  —  not  at  all 
unkindly. 

'*  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  often  wished  to  thank  you  for  the 
intense  pleasure  your  books  have  given  me,  especially  the 
*  Painter's  Camp  in  the  Highlands,'  the  word-pictures  of 
which  reproduced  the  enjoyment,  intense  even  to  pain,  of  the 
Scottish  scenery. 

'*  I  have  only  now  become  acquainted  with  your  *  Intel- 
lectual Life,'  which  has  also  given  me  great  pleasure,  though 
of  another  kind.  Its  general  fairness  and  candor  induce 
me  to  protest  against  your  judgment  of  a  class  of  women 
whom  I  am  sure  you  underrate  from  not  having  a  sufficient 
acquaintance  with  their  capabilities. 

"  *  Women  who  are  not  impelled  by  some  masculine  influence 
are  not  superior,  either  in  knowledge  or  in  discipline  of  the  mind, 
at  the  age  of  fifty  to  what  they  were  at  twenty-five.  .  .  .  The  best 
illustration  of  this  is  a  sisterhood  of  three  or  four  rich  old  maids. 
.  .  .  You  will  observe  that  they  invariably  remain,  as  to  their 
education,  where  they  were  left  by  their  teachers  many  years  be- 
fore. .  .  .  Even  in  what  most  interests  them  —  theology,  they 
repeat  but  do  not  extend  their  information.9 

11  My  circle  of  acquaintance  is  small,  nevertheless  I  know 
many  women  between  twenty-five  and  forty  whose  culture  is 


380  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

always  steadily  progressing;  who  keep  up  an  acquaintance 
with  literature  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  *  impelled  '  thereto 
'  by  masculine  influence; '  who,  though  without  creative  power, 
yet  have  such  capability  of  reception  that  they  can  appreciate 
the  best  authors  of  the  day;  whose  theology  is  not  quite  the 
fossil  you  represent  it,  though  I  confess  it  is  for  but  a  small 
number  of  my  acquaintance  that  I  can  claim  the  power  of 
judicially  estimating  the  various  schools  of  theology. 

"  Without  being  specialists,  the  more  thoughtful  of  our 
class  have  such  an  acquaintance  with  current  literature  that 
they  are  able  to  enter  into  the  progress  of  the  great  ques- 
tions of  the  day,  and  may  even  estimate  the  more  fairly  a 
Gladstone  or  a  Disraeli  for  being  spectators  instead  of  actors 
in  politics. 

"I  have  spoken  of  my  own  acquaintances,  but  they  are 
such  as  may  be  met  within  any  middle-class  society.  For 
myself,  I  look  back  to  the  painful  bewilderment  of  twenty- 
five  and  contrast  it  with  satisfaction  with  the  brighter  per- 
ceptions of  forty,  finding  out '  a  little  more,  and  yet  a  little 
more,  of  the  eternal  order  of  the  universe.'  One  reason  for 
your  underrating  us  may  be  that  our  receptive  powers  only 
are  in  constant  use,  and  we  have  little  power  of  expression. 
I  dislike  anonymous  letters  as  a  rule,  but  as  I  write  as  the 
representative  of  a  class,  I  beg  to  sign  myself, 

"  Yours  gratefully, 

"ONE  OF  THREE  OR  FOUR  RICH  OLD  MAIDS. 
"  November  13, 1883." 

Letters  of  this  kind  give  no  pain  to  the  receiver, 
except  when  they  compel  him  to  an  unsatisfactory  kind 
of  self-examination.  In  the  present  case  I  make  the 
best  amends  by  giving  publicity  and  permanence  to  this 
clearly  expressed  criticism.  Something  may  be  said, 
too,  in  defence  of  the  passages  incriminated.  Let  me 
attempt  it  in  the  form  of  a  letter  which  may  possibly 
fall  under  the  eye  of  the  Rich  Old  Maid. 


ANONYMOUS  LETTERS.  381 

DEAR  MADAM,  —  Your  letter  has  duly  reached  me,  and 
produced  feelings  of  compunction.  Have  I  indeed  been 
guilty  of  injustice  towards  a  class  so  deserving  of  respect  and 
consideration  as  the  Rich  Old  Maids  of  England  ?  It  has 
always  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  privileges  of  my  native 
country  that  such  a  class  should  flourish  there  so  much  more 
amply  and  luxuriantly  than  in  other  lands.  Married  women 
are  absorbed  in  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  their  own  house- 
holds, but  the  sympathies  of  old  maids  spread  themselves  over 
a  wider  area.  Balzac  hated  them,  and  described  them  as 
having  souls  overflowing  with  gall ;  but  Balzac  was  a  French- 
man, and  if  he  was  just  to  the  rare  old  maids  of  his  native 
country  (which  I  cannot  believe)  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
more  numerous  old  maids  of  Great  Britain.  I  am  not  in 
Balzac's  position.  Dear  friends  of  mine,  and  dearer  relations, 
have  belonged  to  that  kindly  sisterhood. 

The  answer  to  your  objection  is  simple.  "  The  Intellectual 
Life  "  was  not  published  in  1883  but  in  1873.  It  was  written 
some  time  before,  and  the  materials  had  been  gradually 
accumulating  in  the  author's  mind  several  years  before  it 
was  written.  Consequently  your  criticism  is  of  a  much  later 
date  than  the  work  you  criticise,  and  as  you  are  forty  in  1883 
you  were  a  young  maid  in  the  times  I  was  thinking  of  when 
writing.  It  is  certainly  true  that  many  women  of  the  now 
past  generation,  particularly  those  who  lived  in  celibacy,  had 
a  remarkable  power  of  remaining  intellectually  in  the  same 
place.  This  power  is  retained  by  some  of  the  present 
generation,  but  it  is  becoming  rarer  every  day  because  the 
intellectual  movement  is  so  strong  that  it  is  drawing  a  con- 
stantly increasing  number  of  women  along  with  it ;  indeed 
this  movement  is  so  accelerated  as  to  give  rise  to  a  new 
anxiety,  and  make  us  look  back  with  a  wistful  regret.  We 
are  now  beginning  to  perceive  that  a  certain  excellent  old 
type  of  Englishwomen  whom  we  remember  with  the  greatest 
affection  and  respect  will  soon  belong  as  entirely  to  the  past 
as  if  they  had  lived  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  From  the 
intellectual  point  of  view  their  lives  were  hardly  worth  living, 
but  we  are  beginning  to  ask  ourselves  whether  their  igno- 


382  ANONYMOUS  LETTERS. 

ranee  (I  use  the  plain  term)  and  their  prejudices  (the  plain 
term  again)  were  not  essential  parts  of  a  whole  that  com- 
manded our  respect.  Their  simplicity  of  mind  may  have 
been  a  reason  why  they  had  so  much  simplicity  of  purpose  in 
well-doing.  Their  strength  of  prejudice  may  have  aided 
them  to  keep  with  perfect  steadfastness  on  the  side  of  moral 
and  social  order.  Their  intellectual  restfulness  in  a  few 
clear  settled  ideas  left  a  degree  of  freedom  to  their  energy  in 
common  duties  that  may  not  always  be  possible  amidst  the 
bewildering  theories  of  an  unsettled  and  speculative  age. 

Faithfully  yours, 
THE  AUTHOR  OF  **  THE  INTELLECTUAL  LIFE." 


AMUSEMENTS.  383 


ESSAY    XXVI. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

of  the  most  unexpected  discoveries  that  we 
make  on  entering  the  reflective  stage  of  exist- 
ence is  that  amusements  are  social  obligations. 

The  next  discover}'  of  this  kind  is  that  the  higher 
the  rank  of  the  person  the  more  obligatory  and  the 
more  numerous  do  his  so-called  "amusements"  be- 
come, till  finally  we  reach  the  princely  life  which  seems 
to  consist  almost  exclusively  of  these  observances. 

Why  should  it  ever  be  considered  obligatory  upon  a 
man  to  amuse  himself  in  some  way  settled  by  others? 
There  appear  to  be  two  principal  reasons  for  this.  The 
first  is,  that  when  amusements  are  practised  by  many 
persons  in  common  it  appears  unsociable  and  ungra- 
cious to  abstain.  Even  if  the  amusement  is  not  inter- 
esting in  itself  it  is  thought  that  the  society  it  leads  us 
into  ought  to  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  following  it. 

The  second  reason  is  that,  like  all  things  which  are 
repeated  by  many  people  together,  amusements  soon 
become  fixed  customs,  and  have  all  the  weight  and 
authority  of  customs,  so  that  people  dare  not  abstain 
from  observing  them  for  fear  of  social  penalties. 

If  the  amusements  are  expensive  they  become  not 
only  a  sign  of  wealth  but  an  actual  demonstration  and 
display  of  it,  and  as  nothing  in  the  world  is  so  much 


384  A  MUSEMEMTS. 

respected  as  wealth,  or  so  efficient  a  help  to  social  posi- 
tion, and  as  the  expenditure  which  is  visible  produces 
far  more  effect  upon  the  mind  than  that  which  is  not 
seen,  it  follows  that  all  costly  amusements  are  useful 
for  self-assertion  in  the  world,  and  become  even  a 
means  of  maintaining  the  political  importance  of  great 
families. 

On  the  other  hand,  not  to  be  accustomed  to  expen- 
sive amusements  implies  that  one  has  lived  amongst 
people  of  narrow  means,  so  that  most  of  those  who 
have  social  ambition  are  eager  to  seize  upon  every 
opportunity  for  enlarging  their  experience  of  expensive 
amusements  in  order  that  they  may  talk  about  them 
afterwards,  and  so  affirm  their  position  as  members  of 
the  upper  class. 

The  dread  of  appearing  unsociable,  of  seeming  rebel- 
lious against  custom,  or  inexperienced  in  the  habits  of 
the  rich,  are  reasons  quite  strong  enough  for  the  main- 
tenance of  customary  amusements  even  when  there  is 
very  little  real  enjoyment  of  them  for  their  own  sake. 

But,  in  fact,  there  are  always  some  people  who  prac- 
tise these  amusements  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  they 
give,  and  as  these  people  are  likely  to  excel  the  others 
in  vivacity,  activity,  and  skill,  as  they  have  more  en- 
train and  gayety,  and  talk  more  willingly  and  heartily 
about  the  sports  they  love,  so  they  naturally  come  to 
lead  opinion  upon  the  subject  and  to  give  it  an  appear- 
ance of  earnestness  and  warmth  that  is  beyond  its 
real  condition.  Hence  the  tone  of  conversation  about 
amusements,  though  it  may  accurately  represent  the  sen- 
timents of  those  who  enjoy  them,  does  not  represent  all 


AMUSEMENTS.  3*5 

opinion  fairly.  The  opposite  side  of  the  question  found 
a  witty  exponent  in  Sir  George  Cornewall  Lewis,  when 
he  uttered  that  immortal  saying  by  which  his  name  will 
endure  when  the  recollection  of  his  political  services 
has  passed  away,  —  "  How  tolerable  life  would  be  were 
it  not  for  its  pleasures  ! "  There  you  have  the  feeling 
of  the  thousands  who  submit  and  conform,  but  who 
would  have  much  to  say  if  it  were  in  good  taste  to 
say  anything  against  pleasures  that  are  offered  to  us  in 
hospitality. 

Amusements  themselves  become  work  when  under- 
taken for  an  ulterior  purpose  such  as  the  maintenance 
of  political  influence.  A  great  man  goes  through  a 
certain  regular  series  of  dinners,  balls,  games,  shoot- 
ing and  hunting  parties,  races,  wedding-breakfasts, 
visits  to  great  houses,  excursions  on  land  and  water, 
and  all  these  things  have  the  outward  appearance  of 
amusement,  but  may,  in  reality,  be  labors  that  the  great 
man  undertakes  for  some  purpose  entirely  outside  of 
the  frivolous  things  themselves.  A  Prime  Minister 
scarcely  goes  beyond  political  dinners,  but  what  an 
endless  series  of  engagements  are  undertaken  by  a 
Prince  of  Wales !  Such  things  are  an  obligation  for 
him,  and  when  the  obligation  is  accepted  with  unfail- 
ing patience  and  good  temper,  the  Prince  is  not  only 
working,  but  working  with  a  certain  elegance  and  grace 
of  art,  often  involving  that  prettiest  kind  of  self-sacri- 
fice which  hides  itself  under  an  appearance  of  enjoy- 
ment. Nobody  supposes  that  the  social  amusements 
so  regularly  gone  through  by  the  eldest  son  of  Queen 
Victoria  can  be,  in  all  cases,  very  entertaining  to  him  ; 
25 


386  AMUSEMENTS. 

we  suppose  them  to  be  accepted  as  forms  of  human 
intercourse  that  bring  him  into  personal  relations  with 
his  future  subjects.  The  difference  between  this  Prince 
and  King  Louis  II.  of  Bavaria  is  perhaps  the  most 
striking  contrast  in  modern  royal  existences.  Prince 
Albert  Edward  is  accessible  to  everybody,  and  shares 
the  common  pleasures  of  his  countrymen ;  the  Bavarian 
sovereign  is  never  so  happy  as  when  in  one  of  his 
romantic  and  magnificent  residences,  surrounded  by 
the  sublimity  of  nature  and  the  embellishments  of  art, 
he  sits  alone  and  dreams  as  he  listens  to  the  strains 
of  exquisite  music.  Has  he  not  erected  his  splendid 
castle  on  a  rock,  like  the  builder  of  "  The  Palace  of 
Art"? 

"  A  huge  crag-platform,  smooth  as  burnish'd  brass 

I  chose.    The  ranged  ramparts  bright 
From  level  meadow-bases  of  deep  grass 
Suddenly  scaled  the  light. 

"  Thereon  I  built  it  firm.    Of  ledge  or  shelf 
The  rock  rose  clear,  or  winding  stair. 
My  soul  would  live  alone  unto  herself 
In  her  high  palace  there." 

The  life  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  sublimely  serene  in 
its  independence,  is  a  long  series  of  tranquil  omissions. 
There  may  be  a  wedding-feast  in  one  of  his  palaces, 
but  such  an  occurrence  only  seems  to  him  the  best  of 
all  reasons  why  he  should  be  in  another.  He  escapes 
from  the  pleasures  and  interests  of  daily  life,  making 
himself  an  earthly  paradise  of  architecture,  music,  and 
gardens,  and  lost  in  his  long  dream,  assuredly  one 
of  the  most  poetical  figures  in  the  biographies  of  kings, 


AMUSEMENTS.  387 

and  one  of  the  most  interesting,  but  how  remote  from 
men  !  This  remoteness  is  due,  in  great  part,  to  a  sin- 
cerity of  disposition  which  declines  amusements  that 
do  not  amuse,  and  desires  only  those  real  pleasures 
which  are  in  perfect  harmony  with  one's  own  nature 
and  constitution.  We  like  the  sociability,  the  ready 
human  sjTnpathy,  of  the  Prince  of  Wales ;  we  think 
that  in  his  position  it  is  well  for  him  to  be  able  to  keep 
all  that  endless  series  of  engagements,  but  has  not 
King  Louis  some  claim  upon  our  indulgence  even  in 
his  eccentricity?  He  has  refused  the  weary  round  of 
false  amusements  and  made  his  choice  of  ideal  pleasure. 
If  he  condescended  to  excuse  himself,  his  Apologia 
pro  vita  sua  might  take  a  form  somewhat  resembling 
this.  He  might  say,  "I  was  born  to  a  great  fortune 
and  only  ask  leave  to  enjoy  it  in  my  own  way.  The 
world's  amusements  are  an  infliction  that  I  consider 
myself  at  liberty  to  avoid.  I  love  musical  or  silent 
solitude r  and  the  enchantments  of  a  fair  garden  and  a 
lofty  dwelling  amidst  the  glorious  Bavarian  mountains. 
Let  the  noisy  world  go  its  way  with  its  bitter  wrang- 
lings,  its  dishonest  politics,  its  sanguinary  wars !  I 
set  up  no  tyranny.  I  leave  my  subjects  to  enjoy  their 
brief  human  existence  in  their  own  fashion,  and  they 
let  me  dream  my  dream." 

These  are  not  the  world's  ways  nor  the  world's  view. 
The  world  considers  it  essential  to  the  character  of  a 
prince  that  he  should  be  at  least  apparently  happy  in 
those  pleasures  which  are  enjoyed  in  society,  that  he 
should  seem  to  enjoy  them  along  with  others  to  show 
his  fellow-feeling  with  common  men,  and  not  sit  by  him- 


388  AMUSEMENTS. 

self,  like  King  Louis  in  his  theatre,  when  "  Tannhauser  " 
is  performed  for  the  royal  ears  alone. 

Of  the  many  precious  immunities  that  belong  to 
humble  station  there  are  none  more  valuable  than  the 
freedom  from  false  amusements.  A  poor  man  is  under 
one  obligation,  he  must  work,  but  his  work  itself  is  a 
blessed  deliverance  from  a  thousand  other  obligations. 
He  is  not  obliged  to  shoot,  and  hunt,  and  dance  against 
his  will,  he  is  not  obliged  to  affect  interest  and  pleasure 
in  games  that  only  weary  him,  he  has  not  to  receive 
tiresome  strangers  in  long  ceremonious  repasts  when  he 
would  rather  have  a  simple  short  dinner  with  his  wife. 
Beranger  sang  the  happiness  of  beggars  with  his  sym- 
pathetic humorous  philosophy,  but  in  all  seriousness 
it  might  be  maintained  that  the  poor  are  happier  than 
they  know.  They  get  their  easy  unrestrained  human 
intercourse  by  chance  meetings,  and  greetings,  and 
gossipings,  and  they  are  spared  all  the  acting,  all  the 
feigning,  that  is  connected  with  the  routine  of  imposed 
enjoyments. 

Avowed  work,  even  when  uncongenial,  is  far  less 
trying  to  patience  than  feigned  pleasure.  You  dislike 
accounts  and  you  dislike  balls,  but  though  your  dislike 
may  be  nearly  equal  in  both  cases  you  will  assuredly 
find  that  the  time  hangs  less  heavily  when  you  are 
resolutely  grappling  with  the  details  of  your  account- 
books  than  when  you  are  only  wishing  that  the  dancers 
would  go  to  bed.  The  reason  is  that  any  hard  work, 
whatever  it  is,  has  the  qualities  of  a  mental  tonic, 
whereas  unenjoyed  pleasures  have  an  opposite  effect, 
and  even  though  work  may  be  uncongenial  you  see  a 


A  MUSEMENTS.  381> 

sort  of  result,  whilst  a  false  pleasure  leaves  no  result 
but  the  extreme  fatigue  that  attends  it,  —  a  kind  of 
fatigue  quite  exceptional  in  its  nature,  and  the  most 
disagreeable  that  is  known  to  man. 

The  dislike  for  false  amusements  is  often  misunder- 
stood to  be  a  puritanical  intolerance  of  all  amusement. 
It  is  in  this  as  in  all  things  that  are  passionately  enjoyed, 
—  the  false  thing  is  most  disliked  by  those  who  best 
appreciate  the  true. 

What  may  be  called  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  amuse- 
ments is  not  in  the  amusements  themselves,  but  in  the 
relation  between  one  human  idios}Tncrasy  and  them. 
Every  idios3*ncrasy  has  its  own  strong  mysterious 
affinities,  generally  distinguishable  in  childhood,  always 
clearly  distinguishable  in  youth.  We  are  like  a  lute  or 
a  violin,  the  tuned  strings  vibrate  in  answer  to  certain 
notes  but  not  in  answer  to  others. 

To  convert  amusements  into  social  customs  or  obliga- 
tions, to  make  it  a  man's  duty  to  shoot  birds  or  ride 
after  foxes  because  it  is  agreeable  to  others  to  discharge 
guns  and  gallop  across  fields,  is  an  infringement  of 
individual  liberty  which  is  less  excusable  in  the  case  of 
amusements  than  it  is  in  more  serious  things.  For  in 
serious  things,  in  politics  and  religion,  there  is  always 
the  plausible  argument  that  the  repression  of  the  in- 
dividual conscience  is  good  for  the  unity  of  the  State ; 
whereas  amusements  are  supposed  to  exist  for  the 
recreation  of  those  who  practise  them,  and  when  they 
are  not  enjoyed  they  are  not  amusements  but  something 
else.  There  is  no  single  English  word  that  exactly 
expresses  what  they  are,  but  there  is  a  French  one, 


390  AMUSEMENTS. 

the  word  corvee,  which  means  forced  labor,  labor  under 
dictation,  all  the  more  unpleasant  in  these  cases  that  it 
must  assume  the  appearance  of  enjoyment.1 

Surely  there  is  nothing  in  which  the  independence  of 
the  individual  ought  to  be  so  absolute,  so  unquestioned, 
as  in  amusements.  What  right  have  I,  because  a  thing 
is  a  pleasant  pastime  to  me,  to  compel  my  friend  or  my 
son  to  do  that  thing  when  it  is  a  corvee  to  him?  No 
man  can  possibly  amuse  himself  in  obedience  to  a  word 
of  command,  the  most  he  can  do  is  to  submit,  to  try  to 
appear  amused,  wishing  all  the  time  that  the  weary 
task  was  over. 

To  mark  the  contrast  clearly  I  will  describe  some 
amusements  from  the  opposite  points  of  view  of  those 
who  enjoy  them  naturally,  and  those  to  whom  they 
would  be  indifferent  if  they  were  not  imposed,  and  hate- 
ful if  they  were. 

Shooting  is  delightful  to  genuine  sportsmen  in  many 
ways.  It  renews  in  them  the  sensations  of  the  vigor- 
ous youth  of  humanity,  of  the  tribes  that  lived  by 
the  chase.  It  brings  them  into  contact  with  nature, 
gives  a  zest  and  interest  to  hard  pedestrian  exercise, 
makes  the  sportsmen  minutely  acquainted  with  the 
country,  and  leads  to  innumerable  observations  of  the 
habits  of  wild  animals  that  have  the  interest  without 
the  formal  pretensions  of  a  science.  Shooting  is  a 
delightful  exercise  of  skill,  requiring  admirable  prompti- 
tude and  perfect  nerve,  so  that  any  success  in  it  is  grati- 
fying to  self-esteem.  Sir  Samuel  Baker  is  always  proud 

1  Littre  derives  corvee  from  the  Low-Latin  corrogata,  from  the 
Latin  cum  and  rogare. 


AMUSEMENTS.  391 

of  being  such  a  good  marksman,  and  frankly  shows  his 
satisfaction.  "  I  had  fired  three  beautifully  correct 
shots  with  No.  10  bullets,  and  seven  drachms  of  powder 
in  each  charge  ;  these  were  so  nearly  together  that  they 
occupied  a  space  in  her  forehead  of  about  three  inches." 
He  does  not  aim  at  an  animal  in  a  general  way,  but 
always  at  a  particular  and  penetrable  spot,  recording 
each  hit,  and  the  special  bullet  used.  Of  course  he 
loves  his  guns.  These  modern  instruments  are  delight- 
ful toys  on  account  of  the  highly  developed  art  em- 
ploj'ed  in  their  construction,  so  that  they  would  be 
charming  things  to  possess,  and  handle,  and  admire, 
even  if  they  were  never  used,  whilst  the  use  of  them 
gives  a  terrible  power  to  man.  See  a  good  marksman 
when  he  takes  a  favorite  weapon  in  his  hand !  More 
redoubtable  than  Roland  with  the  sword  Durindal,  he 
is  comparable  rather  to  Apollo  with  the  silver  bow,  or 
even  to  Olympian  Zeus  himself  grasping  his  thunders. 
Listen  to  him  when  he  speaks  of  his  weapon !  If  he 
thinks  }*ou  have  the  free-masonry  of  the  chase,  and  can 
understand  him,  he  talks  like  a  poet  and  lover.  Baker 
never  fails  to  tell  us  what  weapon  he  used  on  each 
occasion,  and  how  beautifully  it  performed,  and  due 
honor  and  advertisement  are  kindty  given  to  the  maker, 
out  of  gratitude. 

"  I  accordingly  took  my  trusty  little  Fletcher  double  rifle 
No.  24,  and  running  knee-deep  into  the  water  to  obtain  a 
close  shot  I  fired  exactly  between  the  eyes  near  the  crown  of 
the  head.  At  the  reports  of  the  little  Fletcher  the  hippo 
disappeared." 

Then  he  adds  an  affectionate  foot-note  about  the  gun. 


392  AMUSEMENTS. 

praising  it  for  going  with  him  for  five  years,  as  if  it  had 
had  a  choice  about  the  matter,  and  could  have  offered 
its  services  to  another  master.  He  believes  it  to  be 
alive,  like  a  dog. 

"This  excellent  and  handy  rifle  was  made  by  Thomas 
Fletcher,  of  Gloucester,  and  accompanied  me  like  a  faithful 
dog  throughout  my  journey  of  nearly  five  years  to  the  Albert 
Nyanza,  and  returned  with  me  to  England  as  good  as  new.'* 

In  the  list  of  Baker's  rifles  appears  his  bow  of  Ulysses, 
his  Child  of  a  Cannon,  familiarly  called  the  Baby,  throw- 
ing a  half-pound  explosive  shell,  a  lovely  little  pet  of  a 
weapon  with  a  recoil  that  broke  an  Arab's  collar-bone, 
and  was  not  without  some  slight  effect  even  upon  that 
mighty  hunter,  its  master. 

"Bang  went  the  Baby;  round  I  spun  like  a  weather-cock 
with  the  blood  flowing  from  my  nose,  as  the  recoil  had  driven 
the  top  of  the  hammer  deep  into  the  bridge.  My  Baby  not 
only  screamed  but  kicked  viciously.  However  I  knew  the 
elephant  would  be  bagged,  as  the  half-pound  shell  had  been 
aimed  directly  behind  the  shoulder." 

We  have  the  most  minute  descriptions  of  the  effects 
of  these  projectiles  in  the  head  of  a  hippopotamus  and 
the  body  of  an  elephant.  "  I  was  quite  satisfied  with 
my  explosive  shells,"  says  the  enthusiastic  sportsman, 
and  the  great  beasts  appear  to  have  been  satisfied  too. 

Now  let  me  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  of  a 
man  not  born  with  the  natural  instinct  of  a  sportsman. 
We  need  not  suppose  him  to  be  either  a  weakling  or  a 
coward.  There  are  strong  and  brave  men  who  can 
exercise  their  strength  and  prove  their  courage  without 
willingly  inflicting  wounds  or  death  upon  any  creature. 


AMUSEMENTS.  393 

To  some  such  men  a  gun  is  simply  an  encumbrance,  to 
wait  for  game  is  a  wearisome  trial  of  patience,  to  follow 
it  is  aimless  wandering,  to  slaughter  it  is  to  do  the  work 
of  a  butcher  or  a  poulterer,  to  wound  it  is  to  incur  a 
degree  of  remorse  that  is  entirely  destructive  of  enjoy* 
ment.  The  fact  that  somewhere  on  mountain  or  in 
forest  poor  creatures  are  lying  with  festering  flesh  or 
shattered  bones  to  die  slowly  in  pain  and  hunger,  and 
the  terrible  thirst  of  the  wounded,  and  all  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  a  gentleman,  —  such  a  fact  as  that,  when  clearly 
realized,  is  not  to  be  got  over  b}T  anything  less  powerful 
than  the  genuine  instinct  of  the  sportsman  who  is  him- 
self one  of  Nature's  own  born  destroyers,  as  panthers 
and  falcons  are.  The  feeling  of  one  who  has  not  the 
sporting  instinct  has  been  well  expressed  as  follows  by 
Mr.  Lewis  Morris,  in  "  A  Cynic's  Day-dream :  "  — 

"  Scant  pleasure  should  I  think  to  gain 
From  endless  scenes  of  death  and  pain ; 
'T  would  little  profit  me  to  slay 
A  thousand  innocents  a  day ; 
I  should  not  much  delight  to  tear 
With  wolfish  dogs  the  shrieking  hare ; 
With  horse  and  hound  to  track  to  death 
A  helpless  wretch  that  gasps  for  breath ; 
To  make  the  fair  bird  check  its  wing, 
And  drop,  a  dying,  shapeless  thing; 
To  leave  the  joy  of  all  the  wood 
A  mangled  heap  of  fur  and  blood, 
Or  else  escaping,  but  in  vain, 
To  pine,  a  shattered  wretch,  in  pairi ; 
Teeming,  perhaps,  or  doomed  to  see 
Its  young  brood  starve  in  misery." 

Hunting  may  be  classed  with  shooting  and  passed 
over,  as  the  instinct  is  the  same  for  both,  with  this  dif- 


394  AMUSEMENTS. 

ference  only  that  the  huntsman  has  a  natural  passion 
for  horsemanship  that  may  be  wanting  to  the  pedes- 
trian marksman.  An  amusement  entirely  apart  from 
every  other,  and  requiring  a  special  instinct,  is  that  of 
sailing. 

If  you  have  the  nautical  passion  it  was  born  with 
you,  and  no  reasoning  can  get  it  out  of  you.  Every 
sheet  of  navigable  water  draws  you  with  a  marvellous 
attraction,  fills  you  with  an  indescribable  longing. 
Miles  away  from  anything  that  can  be  sailed  upon, 
you  cannot  feel  a  breeze  upon  your  cheek  without 
wishing  to  be  in  a  sailing-boat  to  catch  it  in  a  spread 
of  canvas.  A  ripple  on  a  duck-pond  torments  you 
with  a  teazing  reminder  of  larger  surfaces,  and  if  you 
had  no  other  field  for  navigation  you  would  want  to  be 
on  that  duck-pond  in  a  tub.  "I  would  rather  have 
a  plank  and  a  handkerchief  for  a  sail,"  said  Charles 
Lever,  "  than  resign  myself  to  give  up  boating."  You 
have  pleasure  merely  in  being  afloat,  even  without  mo- 
tion, and  all  the  degrees  of  motion  under  sail  have 
their  own  peculiar  charm  for  you,  from  an  insensible 
gliding  through  -glassy  waters  to  a  fight  against  op- 
posite winds  and  raging  seas.  You  have  a  thorough, 
intimate,  and  affectionate  knowledge  of  all  the  details 
of  your  ship.  The  constant  succession  of  little  tasks 
and  duties  is  an  unfailing  interest,  a  delightful  occupa- 
tion. You  enjoy  the  manual  labor,  and  acquire  some 
skill  not  only  as  a  sailor  but  as  ship's  carpenter  and 
painter.  You  take  all  accidents  and  disappointments 
cheerfully,  and  bear  even  hardship  with  a  merry  heart. 
Nautical  exercise,  though  on  the  humble  scale  of  the 


AMUSEMENTS.  395 

modest  amateur,  has  preserved  or  improved  your  health 
and  activity,  and  brought  you  nearer  to  Nature  by 
teaching  you  the  habits  of  the  winds  and  waters  and 
oy  displaying  to  you  an  endless  variety  of  scenes,  al- 
ways with  some  fresh  interest,  and  often  of  enchanting 
beauty. 

Now  let  us  suppose  that  you  are  simple  enough  to 
think  that  what  pleases  you,  who  have  the  instinct,  will 
gratify  another  who  is  destitute  of  it.  If  you  have 
power  enough  to  make  him  accompany  you,  he  will 
pass  through  the  following  experiences. 

Try  to  realize  the  fact  that  to  him  the  sailing-boat 
is  only  a  means  of  locomotion,  and  that  he  will  refer 
to  his  watch  and  compare  it  with  other  means  of  loco- 
motion already  known  to  him,  not  having  the  slightest 
affectionate  prejudice  in  its  favor  or  gentle  tolerance 
of  its  defects.  If  you  could  always  have  a  stead}'  fair 
wind  he  would  enjoy  the  boat  as  much  as  a  coach  or  a 
very  slow  railway  train,  but  he  will  chafe  at  every  de- 
lay. None  of  the  details  that  delight  }*ou  can  have  the 
slightest  interest  for  him.  The  sails,  and  particularly 
the  cordage,  seem  to  him  an  irritating  complication 
which,  he  thinks,  might  be  simplified,  and  he  will  not 
give  any  mental  effort  to  master  them.  He  cares  noth- 
ing about  those  qualities  of  sails  and  hull  which  have 
been  the  subject  of  such  profound  scientific  investiga- 
tion, such  long  and  passionate  controversy.  You  can- 
not speak  of  anything  on  board  without  employing 
technical  terms  which,  however  necessary,  however 
unavoidable,  will  seem  to  him  a  foolish  and  useless 
affectation  by  which  an  amateur  tries  to  give  himself 


396  AMUSEMENTS. 

nautical  airs.  If  you  say  "  the  mainsheet"  he  thinks 
you  might  have  said  more  rational!}-  and  concisely  4 '  the 
cord  by  which  you  pull  towards  you  that  long  pole 
which  is  under  the  biggest  of  the  sails,"  and  if  you  say 
u  the  starboard  quarter,"  he  thinks  you  ought  to  have 
said,  in  simple  English,  "  that  part  of  the  vessel's  side 
that  is  towards  the  back  end  of  it  and  to  your  right 
hand  when  you  are  standing  with  your  face  looking 
forwards."  If  you  happen  to  be  becalmed  he  suffers 
from  an  infinite  ennui.  If  you  have  to  beat  to  wind- 
ward he  is  indifferent  to  the  wonderful  art  and  vexed 
with  3Tou  because,  as  his  host,  }*ou  have  hot  had  the 
politeness  and  the  forethought  to  provide  a  favorable 
breeze.  If  }*ou  are  a  yachtsman  of  limited  means  and 
your  guest  has  to  take  a  small  share  in  working  the 
vessel,  he  will  not  perform  it  with  any  cheerful  alacrit}7, 
but  consider  it  unfit  for  a  gentleman.  If  this  goes  on 
for  long  it  is  likely  that  there  will  be  irritation  on  both 
sides,  snappish  expressions,  and  a  quarrel.  Who  is 
in  fault?  Both  are  excusable  in  the  false  situation  that 
has  been  created,  but  it  ought  not  to  have  been  created 
at  all.  You  ought  not  to  have  invited  a  man  without 
nautical  instincts,  or  he  ought  not  to  have  accepted  the 
invitation.  He  was  a  charming  companion  on  land, 
and  that  misled  you  both.  Meet  him  on  land  again, 
receive  him  hospitabty  at  your  house.  I  would  say 
"  forgive  him !  "  if  tkere  were  anything  to-  forgive,  but 
it  is  not  arty  fault  6f  his  6r  any  merit  of  yours  if, 
b}T  the  irrevocable  fate  of  congenital  idiosyncrasy,  the 
amusement  that  you  were  destined  to  seek  and  enjoy 
is  the  corvee  that  he  was  destined  to  avoid. 


AMUSEMENTS.  397 

I  find  no  language  strong  enough  to  condemn  the 
selfishness  of  those  who,  in  order  that  they  may  enjoy 
what  is  a  pleasure  to  themselves,  deliberately  and 
knowingly  inflict  a  corvee  upon  others.  This  objec- 
tion does  not  apply  to  paid  service,  for  that  is  the 
result  of  a  contract.  Servants  constantly  endure  the 
tedium  of  waiting  and  attendance,  but  it  is  their  form 
of  work,  and  they  have  freety  undertaken  it.  Work 
of  that  kind  is  not  a  corvee,  it  is  not  forced  labor. 
Real  corvees  are  inflicted  by  heads  of  families  on  de- 
pendent relations,  or  by  patrons  on  humble  friends  who 
are  under  some  obligation  to  them,  and  so  bound  to 
them  as  to  be  defenceless.  The  father  or  patron  wants, 
let  us  say,  his  nightly  game  at  whist ;  he  must  and  will 
have  it,  if  he  cannot  get  it  he  feels  that  the  machine 
of  the  universe  is  out  of  gear.  He  singles  out  three 
people  who  do  not  want  to  play,  perhaps  takes  for  his 
partner  one  who  thoroughly  dislikes  the  game,  but  who 
has  learned  something  of  it  in  obedience  to  his  orders. 
They  sit  down  to  their  board  of  green  cloth.  The  time 
passes  wearily  for  the  principal  victim,  who  is  thinking 
of  something  else  and  makes  mistakes.  The  patron 
loses  his  temper,  speaks  with  increasing  acerbity,  and 
finally  either  flies  into  a  passion  and  storms  (the  old- 
fashioned  way),  or  else  adopts,  with  grim  self-control, 
a  tone  of  insulting  contempt  towards  his  victim  that 
is  even  more  difficult  to  endure.  And  this  is  the  re- 
ward  for  having  been  unselfish  and  obliging,  these  are 
the  thanks  for  having  sacrificed  a  happy  evening ! 

If  this  is  often  done  b}T  individuals  armed  with  some 
kind  of  power  and  authority,  it  is  done  still  more  fre- 


398  AMUSEMENTS. 

quently  by  majorities.  The  tyranny  of  majorities  begins 
in  our  school-da}Ts,  and  the  principal  happiness  of  man- 
hood is  in  some  measure  to  escape  from  it.  Many  a 
man  in  after-life  remembers  with  bitterness  the  weary 
hours  he  had  to  spend  for  the  gratification  of  others  in 
games  that  he  disliked.  The  present  writer  has  a  vivid 
recollection  of  what,  to  him,  was  the  infinite  dulness  of 
cricket.  He  was  not  by  any  means  an  inactive  boy, 
but  it  so  happened  that  cricket  never  had  the  slightest 
interest  for  him,  and  to  this  da}'  he  cannot  pass  a  cricket- 
ground  without  a  feeling  of  strong  antipathy  to  its  level 
surface  of  green,  and  of  thankfulness  that  he  is  no 
longer  compelled  to  go  through  the  irksome  old  corvee 
of  his  youth.  One  of  the  many  charms,  to  his  taste, 
of  a  rocky  mountain-side  in  the  Highlands  is  that  cricket 
is  impossible  there.  At  the  same  time  he  quite  believes 
and  admits  eve^thing  that  is  so  enthuSiasticalty  claimed 
for  cricket  by  those  who  have  a  natural  affinit}'  for  the 
game. 

There  are  not  only  sports  and  pastimes,  but  there  is 
the  long  reverberating  echo  of  every  sport  in  endless 
conversations.  Here  it  may  be  remarked  that  the 
lovers  of  a  particular  amusement,  when  they  happen 
to  be  a  majority,  possess  a  terrible  power  of  inflicting 
ennui  upon  others,  and  they  often  exercise  it  without 
mercy.  Five  men  are  dining  together,  and  three  are 
fox-hunters.  Evidently  they  ought  to  keep  fox-hunting 
to  themselves  in  consideration  for  the  other  two,  but 
this  requires  an  almost  superhuman  self-discipline  and 
politeness,  so  there  is  a  risk  that  the  minority  may  have 
to  submit  in  silence  to  an  inexhaustible  series  of  details 


AMUSEMENTS.  399 

about  horses  and  foxes  and  dogs.  Indeed  you  are  never 
safe  from  this  kind  of  conversation,  even  when  you 
have  numbers  on  your  side.  Sporting  talk  may  be 
inflicted  by  a  minority  when  that  minority  is  incapable 
of  any  other  conversation  and  strong  in  its  own  inca- 
pacity. Here  is  a  case  in  point  that  was  narrated  to  me 
by  one  of  the  three  convives.  The  host  was  a  country 
gentleman  of  great  intellectual  attainments,  one  guest 
was  a  famous  Londoner,  and  the  other  was  a  sport- 
ing squire  who  had  been  invited  as  a  neighbor.  Fox- 
hunting was  the  only  subject  of  talk,  because  the 
squire  was  garrulous  and  unable  to  converse  about  any 
other  topic. 

Ladies  are  often  pitiable  sufferers  from  this  kind  of 
conversation.  Sometimes  the}'  have  the  instinct  of 
masculine  sport  themselves,  and  then  the  subject  has 
an  interest  for  them;  but  an  intelligent  woman  may 
find  herself  in  a  wearisome  position  when  she  would 
rather  avoid  the  subject  of  slaughter,  and  all  the  men 
around  her  talk  of  nothing  but  killing  and  wounding. 

It  is  natural  that  men  should  talk  much  about  their 
amusements,  because  the  mere  recollection  of  a  true 
amusement  (that  for  which  we  have  an  affinity)  is  in 
itself  a  renewal  of  it  in  imagination,  and  an  immense 
refreshment  to  the  mind.  In  the  midst  of  a  gloomy 
English  winter  the  yachtsman  talks  of  summer  seas,  and 
whilst  he  is  talking  he  watches,  mentally,  his  well-set 
sails,  and  hears  the  wash  of  the  Mediterranean  wave. 

There  are  three  pleasures  in  a  true  amusement,  first 
anticipation,  full  of  hope,  which  is 

"  A  feast  for  promised  triumph  yet  to  come," 


400  AMUSEMENTS. 

often  the  best  banquet  of  all.  Then  comes  the  actual 
fruition,  usually  dashed  with  disappointments  that  a  true 
lover  of  the  sport  accepts  in  the  most  cheerful  spirit. 
Lastly,  we  go  through  it  all  over  again,  either  with  the 
friends  who  have  shared  our  adventures  or  at  least  with 
those  who  could  have  enjoyed  them  had  they  been 
there,  and  who  (for  vanity  often  claims  her  own  de- 
lights) know  enough  about  the  matter  to  appreciate 
our  own  admirable  skill  and  courage, 

In  concluding  this  Essay  I  desire  to  warn  young 
readers  against  a  very  common  mistake.  It  is  very 
generally  believed  that  literature  and  the  fine  arts  can 
be  happily  practised  as  amusements.  I  believe  this  to 
be  an  error  due  to  the  vulgar  notion  that  artists  and 
literary  people  do  not  work  but  only  display  talent,  as 
if  anybody  could  displajr  talent  without  toil.  Literary 
and  artistic  pursuits  are  in  fact  studies  and  not  amuse- 
ments. Too  arduous  to  have  the  refreshing  quality  of 
recreation,  they  put  too  severe  a  strain  upon  the 
faculties,  they  are  too  troublesome  in  their  processes, 
and  too  unsatisfactory  in  their  results,  unless  a  natural 
gift  has  been  developed  by  earnest  and  long- continued 
labor.  It  does  indeed  occasionally  happen  that  an 
artist  who  has  acquired  skill  by  persistent  study  will 
amuse  himself  by  exercising  it  in  sport.  A  painter  may 
make  idle  sketches  as  Byron  sometimes  broke  out  into 
careless  rhymes,  or  as  a  scholar  will  playfully  compose 
doggerel  in  Greek,  but  these  gambols  of  accomplished 
men  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  painful  efforts  of 
amateurs  who  fancy  that  they  are  going  to  dance  in  the 
Palace  of  Art  and  shortly  discover  that  the  muse  who 


AMUSEMENTS.  401 

presides  there  is  not  a  smiling  hostess  but  a  severe  and 
exigent  schoolmistress.  An  able  French  painter,  Louis 
Leloir,  wrote  thus  to  a  friend  about  another  art  that  he 
felt  tempted  to  practise  :  — 

"  Etching  tempts  me  much.  I  am  making  experiments 
and  hope  to  show  you  something  soon.  Unhappily  life  is  too 
short;  we  do  a  little  of  everything  and  then  perceive  that  each 
branch  of  art  would  of  itself  consume  the  life  of  a  man,  to 
practise  it  very  imperfectly  after  all.  .  .  .  We  get  angry  with 
ourselves  and  struggle,  but  too  late.  It  was  at  the  beginning 
that  we  ought  to  have  put  on  blinkers  to  hide  from  ourselves 
everything  that  is  not  art." 

If  we  mean  to  amuse  ourselves  let  us  avoid  the  pain- 
ful wrestling  against  insuperable  difficulties,  and  the 
humiliation  of  imperfect  results.  Let  us  shun  all  osten- 
tation, either  of  wealth  or  talent,  and  take  our  pleasures 
happily  like  poor  children,  or  like  the  idle  angler  who 
stands  in  his  old  clothes  by  the  purling  stream  and 
watches  the  bobbing  of  his  float,  or  the  glancing  of  the 
fly  that  his  guileful  industry  has  made. 


INDEX. 


ABSINTHE,  French  use,  273. 

Absurdity,  in  languages,  157. 

Academies,  in  a  university,  275. 

Accidents,  Divine  connection  with 
(Essay  XV.),  218-222. 

Acquaintances:  new  and  humble, 
21,  22;  chance,  23-26;  met  in 
travelling  (Essay  XVII.),  239- 
252  prissitn. 

Adaptability:  a  mystery,  9;  in 
life's  journey,  44;  to  unrefined 
people,  72. 

Adultery,  overlooked  in  princes, 
168. 

Affection:  not  blinding  to  faults, 
10;  how  to  obtain  filial,  1)8;  in 
the  beginning  of  letters,  316. 

Affinities,  mysterious,  ^88. 

Age:  affecting  human  intercourse, 
ix ;  outrun  by  youth,  86-93  pas- 
sim; affecting 'friendship,  112; 
senility  hard  to  convince,  293, 
294;  middle  and  old,  302;  kind 
letter  to  an  old  lady,  345. 

Agnosticism,  affecting  filial  rela- 
tions, 93. 

Agriculture:  under  law,  228;  and 
Radicals,  282. 

Albany,  Duke  of,  his  associations,  5. 

Albert  Nvanza,   Baker's  exploits, 

392. 
Alexis,  Prince,  sad  relations  to  his 

father,  95,  96. 
Alps:    first  sight,   235;    grandeur, 

271. 

Americans:  artistic  attraction,  8; 
inequalities  of  wealth,  248;  be- 
havior towards  strangers,  249; 
treated  as  ignorant  by  the  Eng- 
lish, 277 ;  under  George  III.,  279 ; 
use  of  ruled  paper,  328. 
Amusements :  pursuit  of,  27 ;  sym- 
pathy with  youthful,  88;  out- 
door, 302,  303;  praise  for  Indul- 


gence not  deserved,  342;  in 
general  (Essay  XXVI.),  383-401; 
obligatory,  383;  expensive  and 
pleasurable,  384;  laborious,  385; 
princely  enjoyments,  386,  387; 
poverty-  not  co'mpelled  to  practise, 
388;  feigned,  388,  389;  converted 
into  customs,  389;  should  be  in- 
dependent in,  390;  shooting,  391- 
393;  boating,  394-396;  selfish 
compulsion,  397;  tyranny  of 
majorities,  398;  conversational 
echoes,  398,  399;  ladies  not  in- 
terested. 399;  three  stages  of 
pleasure,  399,  400;  artistic  gam- 
bols, 400;  to  be  taken  naturally 
and  happily,  401. 

Analvsis:  important  to  prevent  con- 
fusion (Essay  XX.),  280-294 pas- 
sim ;  analytical  faculty  wanting, 
280,  292-294. 

Ancestry:  aristocratic,  123;  boast, 
130;  home,  138;  less  religion, 

Angels,  and  the  arts,  191. 

Anglicanism,  and  Russian  Church. 
257,  258. 

Angling,  pleasure  of,  401. 

Animals,  feminine  care,  177. 

Annuities,  affecting  family  ties,  68, 
69. 

Answers  to  letters,  334,  335. 

Anticipation,  pleasure  of,  399,  400. 

Antiquarianism,  author's,  323. 

Apollo,  a  sportsman  compared  to, 
391. 

Arabs:  use  of  telegraph,  323;  col- 
lar-bone broken,  392. 

Archaeologv :  a  friend's  interest,  x; 
affected  by  railway  travel,  14. 

Architecture:  illustration,  vii,  xii; 
studies  in  France,  17,  23,  24 ;  con- 
nection with  religion,  189,  190, 
192;  ignorance  about  English, 


404 


INDEX. 


265;  common  mistakes,  291;  let- 
ters about,  365. 

Aristocracy:  French  rural,  18,  19; 
English  laws  of  primogeniture, 
66;  English  instance,  123,  124; 
discipline,  128;  often  poor,  135, 
136 ;  effect  of  deference,  146, 147 ; 
a  mark  of  ?  246,  247;  Norman 
influence,  251,  252;  antipathy,  to 
Dissent,  256,  257;  sent  to  Eton, 
277;  and  Bohemianism,  309;  dis- 
like of  scholarship,  331,  332. 
(SeeJlank.) 

Aristophilus,  fictitious  character, 
146. 

Armies:  national  ignorance,  277- 
279;  monopoly  of  places  in 
French,  283.  (See  War.) 

Art:  detached  from  religion,  xii  ; 
affecting  friendship,  6,  8  ;  Claude 
and  Turner,  13  ;  chance  acquaint- 
ances, 23,  24  ;  purposes  lowered, 
28,  29  ;  penetrated  by  love,  42, 
43  ;  affecting  fraternity,  64  ; 
friendship,  113,  114  ;  lifts  above 
mercenary  motives,  132;  liter- 
ary, 154  ;  adaptability  of  Greek 
language,  158 ;  preferences  of 
artists  rewarded,  165  ;  affecting 
relations  of  Priests  and  Women 
(Essay  XIII.  partn.),  187-195^as- 
sim  ;  exaggeration  and  diminu- 
tion, both  admissible,  232,  233  ; 
result  of  selection,  253  ;  French 
ignorance  of  English,  265,  266, 
267  ;  antagonized  by  Philisti- 
nism, 285,  286,  301  ;  not  mere 
amusement,  400.  (See  Paintiny, 
Sculpture,  Turner %  etc.) 

Asceticism,  tinges  both  the  Philis- 
tine and  Bohemian,  299,  300. 
(See  Priesthood,  Roman  Catholi- 
cism, etc.) 

Association :  pleasurable  or  not,  3 ; 
affected  by  opinions,  5,  6  ;  by 
tastes,  7,  8  ;  London,  20 ;  of  a 
certain  French  painter,  28  ;  be- 
tween Priests  and  Women  (Essay 
XIII.  part  m.),  195-204  passim  ; 
among  travellers  (Essay  XVII.), 
239-252;  leads  to  misapprehen- 
sion of  opinions,  287,  288.  (See 
Companionship,  Friendship,  So- 
ciety, etc.) 

Atavism,  puzzling  to  parents,  88. 

Atheism  :    reading    prayers,    163 ; 


apparent,  173;  confounded  with 
Deism,  257.  (See  God,  Religion, 
etc.) 

Attention  ;  how  directed  in  the 
study  of  language,  154  •  vant 
of,  197. 

Austerlitz,  battle,  350.     (See  N«i>< 
leon  I. ) 

Austria,  Empress,  180. 

Authority,  of  fathers  (Essay  VI.), 
78-98 passim.  (See  Priests.} 

Authors:  illustration,  9  ;  indebted- 
ness to  humbler  classes,  22,  23  ; 
relations  of  several  to  women,  46 
et  seq. ;  sensitiveness  to  family 
indifference,  74 ;  in  society  and 
with  the  pen,  237,  238;  a  pro- 
crastinating correspondent,  317; 
anonymous  letters,  378.  (See 
Jfftmertun,  etc.) 

Authorship,  illustrating  interde- 
pendence, 12.  (See  Literature, 
etc.) 

Autobiographies,  revelations  of 
faithful  family  life,  65. 

Autumn  tints,  233. 

Avignon,  France,  burial-place  of 
Mill,  53. 

BACHELORS:  independence,  26; 
dread  of  a  wife's  relations,  73 ; 
lonely  hearth,  76;  friendship  de- 
stroyed by  marriage,  115,  116; 
reception  "into  society,  120;  eat- 
ing-habits, 244.  (See  Marriage, 
Wives,  etc.) 

Baker,  Sir  Samuel,  shooting,  390- 
392. 

Balzac,  his  hatred  of  old  maids, 
381. 

Baptism,  religious  influence,  184, 
185.  (See  Priesthood.) 

Baptists :  in  England,  170  ;  igno- 
rance about,  257.  (See  Reli- 
gion.) 

Barbarism,  emerging  from,  161. 
(See  Civilization.) 

Baronius,  excerpts  by  Prince  Alexis, 
95. 

Barristers,  mercenary  motives,  132, 
133. 

Bavaria,  king  of,  385-387. 

Bazaar,  charity,  188. 

Beard,  not  worn  by  priests,  202. 

Beauty:  womanly  attraction,  38, 
39;  'sought  by  wealth,  299. 


INDEX. 


405 


Bedford,  Duke  of,  knowledge  of 
French,  151. 

Belgium,  letters  written  at  the  date 
of  Waterloo,  153. 

Beljaine,  his  knowledge  of  English, 
152. 

Bell,  Umfrey,  in  old  letter,  323. 

Benevolence*,  priestly  and  feminine 
association  therein,  195,  190. 
(See  Priests,  etc.) 

Ben  Nevis,  and  other  Scotch  heights, 
271. 

Bentinck,  William,  letters  to,  344, 
345. 

Betham-Edwards,  Amelia,  her  de- 
scription of  English  bad  manners, 
240,  245. 

Bible:  faith  in,  6;  allusion  to  Prov- 
erbs and  Canticles,  41;  reading, 
123 ;  Babel,  159 ;  commentaries 
studied,  authority,  206 ;  exam- 
ples, 208;  narrow  limits,  211, 
212;  commentaries  and  sermons, 
302.  (See  Religion,  etc.) 

Bicycle,  illustration,  15. 

Birds,  in  France,  272. 

Birth,  priestly  connection  with, 
184,  185.  (See  Priests,  Women.) 

Black  cap,  illustration,  204. 

Blake,  William,  quotation  about 
Folly  and  Wisdom,  31. 

Blasphemy,  royal,  167.  (See  Im- 
morality, etc*) 

Boating:  affected  by  railways,  14: 
French  river,  128 ;  rich  and  poor, 
138,  139;  comparison,  154;  Le- 
ver's experience,  260;  mistaken 
judgments,  292,  293 ;  not  enjoyed, 
302 ;  sleeping,  307  ;  on  the 
Thames,  335 ;  painting  a  boat, 
359;  amusement,  394-396.  (See 
Yachts,  etc.) 

Boccaccio,  quotation  about  pesti- 
lence, 222. 

Bohemianism :  Noble  (Essay  XXI.), 
295-314;  unjust  opinions,  295; 
lower  forms,  296;  social  vices, 
297;  sees  the  weakness  of  Philis- 
tinism, 298;  how  justifiable,  299; 
imagination  and  asceticism,  300; 
intimacy  with  nature,  302 ;  esti- 
mate of  the  desirable,  303 ;  living 
illustration,  304;  furniture,  men- 
tal and  material,  305 ;  an  English 
Bohemian's  enjoyment,  306 ;  con- 
tempt for  comfort,  uselessness, 


307;  self-sacrifice,  308;  higher 
sort,  309  ;  of  Goldsmith,  309.  310  ; 
Corot,  Wordsworth,  311;  Palmer, 

312,  313  ;    part    of    education, 

313.  314;    a  painter's,  314.     (See 
Philistinism.) 

Bonaparte  Family,  criminality  of, 
168.  (See  Napoleon  I.) 

Books:  how  far  an  author's  own, 
13;  in  hospitality,  142;  refusal 
to  lead,  195;  indifference  to,  286, 
287;  cheap  and  dear,  304,  305; 
Wordsworth's  carelessness,  311; 
binding,  359.  (See  Literature, 
etc.) 

Bores,  English  dread  of,  245.  (See 
Intrusion.) 

Borrow,  George,  on  English  houses, 
145. 

Botany,  allusion,  166. 

Bourbon  Family,  criminality  of,  168. 

Bourrienne,  Fauvelet  de, 'Napole- 
on's secretary,  367. 

Boy  ton,  Captain,  swimming-appa- 
ratus, 290. 

Boys:  French,  23,  24;  English  fra- 
ternal jealousies,  66;  education, 
and  differences  with  older  peo- 
ple, 78-98  pnssim ;  roughened  by 
play,  100;  friendships,  111.  (See 
Brothers,  Fathers,  Sons,  etc.) 

Brassev,  Sir  Thomas,  his  yacht, 
138/139. 

Brevity,  in  correspondence,  324- 
331/361. 

Bright,  John,  his  fraternity,  68. 

British  Museum  :  ignorance  about. 
266;  library,  287;  confused  with 
other  buildings,  291.  (See  Lon- 
don.) 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  her  St.  John,  in 
Jane  Eyre,  196. 

Brothers:  divided  by  incompati- 
bility, 10;  English  divisions,  63; 
idiosyncrasy,  64;  petty  jealousy, 
65,  66;  love'and  hatred'illustrate'd, 
67;  the  Brights,  68;  money  affairs, 
69 ;  generosity  and  meanness,  70 ; 
refinement  an  obstacle.  71;  lack 
of  fraternal  interest,  74;  riches 
and  poverty,  77.  (See  Boys, 
Friendship,  Sons,  etc.) 

Buff  on,  Georges  Louis  Leclerc  de, 
his  noble  life,  209,  210. 

Buildings,  literary  illustration,  vii 

Bulgaria,  lost  to  Turkey,  278. 


406 


INDEX. 


Bull-fights,  women's  presence,  180. 
(See  Cruelty.) 

Bunyan,  John:  choice  in  religion, 
173;  imprisoned,  181. 

Business:  affecting  family  ties,  64, 
67;  affecting  letter-writing,  342, 
343 ;  Letters  of  (Essay  XXIV.).  354 
-369 ;  orally  conducted  or  written, 
354-357;  stupid  agents,  358,  359; 
talent  for  accuracy,  360 ;  acknowl- 
edging orders,  361 ;  apparent 
carelessness,  one  subject  best,  362; 
knowledge  of  drawing  important 
to  explanations  on  paper,  363,  364; 
acquaintance  with  languages  a 
help,  364;  commercial  slang,  365; 
indolence  in  letter-reading  has 
disastrous  results,  366-369.  (See 
Correspondence.) 

Byron,  Lord:  on  Friendship,  30; 
'Haidee.  39;  marriage  relations, 
46, 48-50, 55-57 ;  as  a  letter-writer, 
345-349;  careless  rhymes,  400. 

CALUMNY:  caused  by  indistinct 
ideas,  292  ;  in  letters",  370-377. 

Cambridge  University,  275,  276. 

Camden  Society,  publication,  318. 

Cannes,  anecdote,  235. 

Cannon-balls,  national  intercourse, 
160.  (See  Wars.) 

Canoe,  illustration,  15. 

Card-playing :  incident,  128,  129; 
French*  habit,  273;  kings,  289; 
laborious,  397. 

Carelessness,  causing  wrong  judg- 
ments, 293. 

Caste:  as  affecting  friendship,  4; 
not  the  uniting  force,  9;  French 
rites,  16  ;  English  prejudice,  19 ; 
sins  against,  22;  among  authors, 
46-56 ;  kinship  of  ideas,  57 ;  ease 
with  lower  classes,  64;  really 
existent,  124,  125;  loss  through 
poverty,  136 ;  among  English 
travellers,  240-242,  245,  246. 
(See  Classes,  Rank,  Titles,  etc.) 

Cat,  drawing  by  a  child,  364. 

Cathedrals:  drawing  a  French,  23, 
24;  imposing,  189,  190,  192. 

Celibacy:  Shelley's  experience,  34: 
in  Catholic  Church,  120;  clerical, 
198-201;  of  old  maids,  379-382. 
(See  Clergy,  Priests,  Wives,  etc.) 

Censure,  dangerous  in  letters,  352, 
353. 


Ceremony:  dependent  on  prosper- 
ity, 125,  126 ;  fondness  of  women 
for,  197, 198;  also  I87-lQ5passim. 
(See  Manners,  Rank,  etc.) 

Chamberlain,  the  title,  137. 

Chambord,  Count  de,  restoration 
possible,  254,  255. 

Channel,  British,  illustration,  14. 

Charles  II.,  women's  influence  dur- 
ing his  reign,  181. 

Charles  XII.,  his  hardiness,  308. 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  on  birds,  272. 

Cheltenham,  En'g.,  treatment  of 
Dissenters,  19. 

Chemistry,  illustration,  3. 

Cheshire*  Eng.,  a  case  of  generos- 
itv,  68. 

Children:  recrimination  with  par- 
ents, 75;  as  affecting  parental 
wealth,  119;  social  reception,  120; 
keenhr  alive  to  social  distinc- 
tions, 121 ;  imprudent  marriages, 
123;  a  poor  woman's,  139;  inter- 
ruptions, 140,  141;  ignorance  of 
foreign  language  makes  us  seem 
like,  151;  feminine  care,  177;  of 
clergy,  200,  201 ;  cat  picture,  364 ; 
pleasures  of  poor,  401.  (See  Buys, 
JBrothers,  Marriage,  Sons,  etc!) 

Chinese  mandarins,  130. 

Chirography,  in  letters,  331-333. 

Christ:  his  divinity  a  past  issue,  6; 
Church  instituted,  178,  179;  Dr. 
Macleod  on,  186;  limits  of  knowl- 
edge in  Jesus'  day,  213.  (See 
Church,  Religion,  etc.) 

Christianity:  as  affecting  inter- 
course, 5,  6  ;  its  early  disciples, 
142;  preferment  for  adherence, 
162,  163 ;  morality  a  part  of,  168, 
169;  state  churches,  170;  in  poe- 
try, 198;  earlv  ideal,  206.  (See 
Roman  Catholicism,  etc.) 

Christmas:  decorations,  188;  in 
Tennyson,  198.  (See  Clergy, 
Priesthood,  Women.) 

Church:  attendance  of  hypocrites, 
163;  compulsory,  172;  "instituted 
by  God  in  Christ,  178,  179;  in- 
fluence at  all  stages  of  life,  183- 
186  ;  aesthetic  industry,  188  ; 
dress,  189;  buildings,  190;  men- 
aces, 193  ;  partisanship,  194  ; 
power  of  custom,  198;  author- 
ity, 203.  (See  Religion,  Roman 
Catholicism,  etc.) 


INDEX. 


407 


Church  of  England:  as  affecting 
friendship,  6;  freedom  of  mem- 
bers in  their  own  country,  in- 
stance of  Dissenting  tyranny, 
164;  dangers  of  forsaking,  165; 
bondage  of  royalty,  J66,  168; 
adherence  of  nobility,  169,  170, 
173;  of  working-people,  170,  171; 
compulsory  attendance,  liberal- 
ity, 172, 173;  ribaldry  sanctioned 
bv  its  head,  181 ;  priestly  consola- 
tion, 183;  the  legal  church,  185; 
ritualistic  art,  188-190;  a  bishop's 
invitation  to  a  discussion,  192; 
story  of  a  bishop's  indolence, 
366,  367;  French  ignorance  of, 
275.  (See  England,  Christ,  etc.) 

Cipher,  in  letters,  32(5. 

Civility.     (See  UfMpitaliff.) 

Civilization:  liking  for,  xiii;  an- 
tagonism to  nature  in  love-mat- 
ters, 41;  lower  state,  72;  affected 
by  hospitality,  100;  material  ad- 
juncts, 253;  physical,  298;  duty 
to  further,  299;  forsaken,  310. 
(See  Barbarism,  Bohemianiam, 
PhiUstinixm,  etc.) 

Classes:  Differences  of  Rank  (Es- 
say X.),  130- 147  passim;  affected 
by  religion  (Essay  XII.),  161- 
174;  limits,  250;  in  connection 
with  Gentility  (Essay  XVIII.), 
253-263 passim.  (Sec  Caste,  Cer- 
emonies, Rank,  etc.) 

Classics,  study  of,  in  the  Renais- 
sance, 212. 

Claude,  helps  Turner.  (See  Paint- 
ers, etc.) 

Clergy:  mercenary  motives,  132, 
133;  more  tolerant  of  immorality 
than  of  heresy,  168;  belief  in 
natural  law,  221 ;  dangers  of  as- 
sociation with,  287.  (See  Priest- 
hood, Religion,  etc.) 

Clergywomen,  200,  201. 

Clerks,  their  knowledge  an  aid  to 
national  intercourse,  149,  150. 
(See  Business,  Languages,  etc.) 

Coats-of-arms :  usurped,  135;  in 
letters,  326,  327.  (See  Rank.) 

Cockburn,  Sir  Alexander,  knowl- 
edge of  French,  151. 

Cock  Kobin,  boat,  138.  (See  Boat- 
ing.) 

Coffee,  satire  on  trade.  133,  134. 

Cologne  Cathedral,  190. 


Colors,  in  painting,  232,  233. 

Columbus,  Voltaire's  allusion,  274. 

Comet,  in  Egyptian  war,  229. 
(See  Superstition.) 

Comfort,  pursuit  of,  27,  298,  299. 
(See  Philistinism.) 

Commerce,  affected  by  language, 
148-150,  159,  160.  (See  Busi- 
ness, Languages,  etc.) 

Communism,  threats,  377. 

Como,  Italy,  solitude,  31. 

Companionship:  how  decided,  4; 
affected  by  opinions,  5,  6;  by 
tastes,  7,  8*;  in  London,  20;  with 
the  lower  classes,  21-23;  chance, 
24-26;  intellectual  exclusiveness, 
27,  28;  books,  29;  nature,  30; 
in  Marriage  (Essay  IV.),  44-62; 
travelling,  absence,  44;  intellect- 
ual, 45;  instances  of  unlawful, 
4(>,  47 ;  failures  not  surprising, 
48;  of  Bvron,  49,  50;  Goethe,  51, 
52;  Mill,  53,  54;  discouraging 
examples,  55,  56;  difficulties  of 
extraordinary  minds,  57;  arti- 
ficial, 58;  hopelessness  of  finding 
ideal  associations,  59;  indications 
and  realizations,  60;  trust,  61, 
62;  hindered  by  refinement,  71, 
72;  affected  by  cousinship,  73; 
parents  and  children  (Essav  VI.), 
78-98  passim ;  Death  of  Friend- 
ship (Essay  VIII.),  110-118; 
affected  by  wealth  and  pover- 
ty (Essays'lX.  and  X.),  119-147 
passim ;  between  Priests  and 
Women  (Essay  XIII.),  175-204. 
(See  Association,  Friendship,  etc.) 

Comradeship,  difficult  between  par- 
ents and  children,  89.  (See  As- 
sociation, etc.) 

Concession :  weakening  the  mind, 
147;  national,  148;  feminine  lik- 
ing, 175. 

Confessional,  the:  influencing  wo- 
men, 201-203;  a  supposititious 
compulsion,  281.  (See  Religion, 
etc  ) 

Confirmation,  priestlv  connection 
with,  185.  (See  Women.) 

Confusion:  (Essay  XX.),  280-294; 
masculine  and  feminine,  280;  po- 
litical, 280-284;  rebels  and  re- 
formers, 280;  private  and  public 
liberty,  281;  Radicals,  282;  ega- 
liti,  283 ;  religious,  284,  285 ;  Phi- 


408 


INDEX. 


listines  and  Bohemians,  285-287; 
confounding  people  with  their  as- 
sociates, 287,  288 ;  vocations,  288, 
289;  persons,  290;  foreign  build- 
ings, 291 ;  inducing  calumny, 
292;  caused  by  insufficient  analy- 
sis, 292,  293;  about  inventions, 
293;  result  of  carelessness,  indo- 
lence, or  senilit}-,  293,  294. 

Consolation,  of  clergy,  179-183. 
(See  Religion.) 

Con-truing,  different  from  reading, 
154.  (See  Languages.) 

Continent,  the:  family  ties,  63; 
friendship  broken  by  marriage, 
116  ;  religious  liberality,  173; 
marriage,  184 ;  flowers,  188,  189 ; 
confessional,  202,  203;  exagger- 
ation, 234,  235  ;  table-manners  of 
travellers,  240-252 passim  ;  drink- 
ing-places,  262.  (See  France,  etc.) 

Controversy^,  disliked,  xiii. 

Conventionality:  affecting  person- 
ality, 15-17  ;  genteel  ignorance 
engendered  by,  260-262.  (See 
Courtesy,  Manners,  etc.) 

Conversation  :  chance,  26  ;  com- 
pared with  literature,  29  ;  study 
of  languages,  156  ;  at  table  d'hote, 
239-249  ;  among  strangers,  247- 
252  passim  ;  useless  to  quote,  291 ; 
Goldsmith's  enjoyment,  309. 

Convictions,  our  own  to  be  trusted, 
iii,  iv. 

Copenhagen,  battle,  327. 

Cornhill  Magazine,  Lever's  article, 
259,  260. 

Corot  (Jean  Baptiste  Camille),  his 
Bohemianism,  310,  311. 

Correspondence  :  akin  to  periodi- 
cals, 30  ;  Belgian  letters,  153  ; 
Courtesy  of  Epistolary  Communi- 
cation (Essay  XXII.),  315-335  ; 
introductions  and  number  of  let- 
ters, 316  ;  promptness,  317,  318  ; 
Plumpton  Letters,  318-323  ;  brev- 
ity, 324  ;  telegraphy  and  abbre- 
viations, 325  ;  sealing,  326,  327  ; 
peculiar  stationery,  328  ;  post- 
cards, 329  ;  un  mot  a  la  poste, 
330  ;  brevity  and  hurry,  331  ; 
handwriting,"  332  ;  crossed  lines, 
ink,  type-writers,  333  ;  dictation, 
outside  courtesv,  334  ;  to  reply  or 
not  replv  V  335 ;  Letters  of  Friend- 
ship (&say  XXIII. ),  336-353  ;  a 


supposed  gain  to  friendship,  336  ; 
neglected,  337  ;  impediments,  338; 
French  cards,  339  ;  abandonment 
to  be  regretted,  340 ;  letter-writing 
a  gift,  341  ;  real  self  wanted  in 
letters,  342  ;  letters  of  business 
and  friendship,  343  ;  familiarity 
best,  344  ;  lengthy  letters,  345; 
Byron's,  346-348 ;  Vacquemont's, 
349 ;  the  K^musat  letters,  350  ; 
Bernardo  Tasso's,  Montaigne's, 
350 ;  perils  of  plain  speaking,  352, 
353;  Letters  of  Business  (Essay 
XXIV.),  354-369  ;  differences  o"f 
talent,  354  ;  repeated  perusals, 
355 ;  refuge  of  timidity,  356  ; 
letters  exposed,  literary  faults, 
omissions,  357  :  directions  misun- 
derstood, 358,  359  ;  acknowledg- 
ing orders,  361;  slovenly  writing, 
one  subject  in  each  letter,  362  ; 
misunderstanding  through  igno- 
rance, 363 ;  in  foreign  languages, 
364  ;  conventional  slang,  365  ; 
careful  reading  necessary,  366  ; 
unopened  letters,  367  ;  epistles 
half-read,  368  ;  a  stupid  error, 
369  ;  Anonymous  Letters  (Essay 
XXV.),  370-o82;  common,  370  ; 
slanderous,  371  ;  vehicle  of  cal- 
umny, 372  ;  written  to  betrothed 
lovers,  373  ;  story,  374  ;  written 
in  collaboration  and  with  pains, 

375  ;  an    expected    grandchild, 

376  ;  torture   and   threats,  377  ; 
kindly  and  critical,  378-382. 

Corvee?  allusion,  342  ;  definition, 
389,  390,  396,  397.  (See  Amuse- 
ments.) 

Cottage,  love  in  a,  35,  36. 

Court-circulars,  166,  167. 

Courtesy:  its  forms,  127-129  ;  id- 
ioms, 157 ;  in  Epistolary  Commu- 
nication (Essay  XXII.)",  315-335 ; 
in  what  courtesy  consists,  315  ; 
the  act  of  writing,  phrases,  316  ; 
promptitude,  317  ;  instance  of 
procrastination,  317,  318  ;  illus- 
trations, in  the  Plumpton  Corre- 
spondence, of  ancient  courtesv, 
318-323,  331  ;  consists  in  modern 
brevity,  324  ;  foreign  forms,  325; 
by  telegraph,  326  ;  in  little  things, 
327;  in  stationery,  328;  affected 
bv  postal  cards*  329,  330  ;  in 
chirography,  331,  332 ;  affected 


INDEX. 


409 


by  tvpe-writers,  333  ;  for  show 
merely,  334  ;  requiring  answers, 
335.  (See  Manners,  Classes,  etc.) 

Cousins  :  French  proverb,  general 
relationship,  72  ;  lack  of  friendly 
interest,  74.  (See  Brothers,  etc!) 

Creuzot,  French  foundry,  272. 

Cricket :  not  played  in  France,  272; 
author's  dislike,  398.  (See  Amuse- 
ments.) 

Crimean  War,  caused  by  ignorance, 
278.  (See  War.) 

Criticism  :  intolerant  of  certain  feat- 
ures in  books,  8J  ;  in  Byron's 
letters,  347;  inaiionvmous  letters, 
379;  explained  by  "a  date,  381. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  contrasted  with 
his  son,  96. 

Culture  and  Philistinism,  285-287. 

Customs  :  upheld  by  clergy,  197, 
198;  amusements  "changed  into, 
383,  384,  389.  (See  Ceremonies, 
Courtesy,  Rank,  etc.) 

DAILY  NEWS,  London,  illustration 
of  natural  law  vs.  religion,  xii. 

Dancing  :  French  quotation  about, 
31  :  religious  aversion,  123  ;  not 
compulsory  to  the  poor,  388.  (See 
Amusements,  etc.) 

Dante,  his  subjects,  192. 

Daughters,  their  respectful  and  im- 
pertinent letters,  319-321.  (See 
f'athers,  S<>ns,  Women,  etc.) 

Death:  termination  of  intercourse, 
x,  xi;  from  love,  39;  Byron's 
lines,  50;  ingratitude  expVessed 
in  a  will,  69;  of  wife's  relations, 
73;  of  Friendship  (Essay  VIII.), 
110-118;  not  personal,  110;  of 
a  French  gentleman,  182;  priestly 
connection  with,  184-186,  203; 
of  absent  friends,  338;  French 
customs.  339;  silence,  340 
(See  Priests,  Religion.) 

Debauchery,  destructive  of  love,  34. 

Deference,  why  liked,  122.  (See 
Rank,  etc.) 

Deism,  confounded  with  Atheism, 
257.  (See  God,  Religion,  etc.) 

Delos,  oracle  of,  229. 

Democracies,  illustration  of  broken 
friendships,  114,  115. 

Democracy:  accusation  of,  131; 
confounded  with  Dissent,  257. 
(See  Nationality,  etc.) 


Denmark,  the  crown-prince  of,  327. 

Dependence,  of  one  upon  all,  12. 

De  Saussure,  Horace  Benedict,  his 
life  study,  230,  231. 

Despotism,  provincial  and  social, 
17.  (See  Tyranny.) 

De  Tocqueviile,  Alexis  Charles 
Henri  Clerel:  allusion,  147  ; 
translation,  152;  on  English 
unsociability  (Essay  XVII.),  239- 
252  passim." 

Devil:  priestly  opposition,  195; 
belief  in  agency,  224;  God's 
relation  to,  228."  (See  Clergy, 
Superstition,  Religion,  etc.) 

Devonshire,  Eng.,  its  beautv,  270. 

Dickens,  Charles:  his  middle-class 
portraitures,  20;  his  indebtedness 
to  the  poor,  22;  humor,  72. 

Dictionary,  references,  155.  (See 
Languages.) 

Diderot,  Denis,  Goldsmith's  inter- 
view, 309. 

Dignify,  to  be  maintained  in  middle- 
life,  117. 

Diminution,  habit  in  art  and  life 
(Essay  XVI.),  232-238.  (See 
Exaggeration . ) 

Diogenes,  his  philosophy,  127. 

Discipline:  of  children*  78-98 pas- 
sim; delegated,  83;  mental,  208; 
of  self,  308. 

Discord,  the  result  of  high  taste,  6. 

Dishonesty,  part  of  Bohemianism, 
296. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin,  female  esti- 
mate, 380. 

Dissenters :  French  estimate,  18, 19 ; 
English  exclusion,  19,  256;  lib- 
erty in  religion,  164,  165;  posi- 
tion not  compulsory,  170;  small 
towns,  171-173.  (See  Church  of 
England,  etc.) 

Dissipation:  among  working-men, 
124:  in  France,  272,  273.  (See 
Wine,  etc.) 

Distinctions  forgotten  (Essay  XX.), 
280-294 pussim.  (See  Confusion.) 

Divorce,  causes  of,  38.  (See  Mar- 
riage, Women,  etc.) 

Dobell,  Sidnev,  social  exclusion, 
19. 

Dog,  rifle  compared  to,  392.  (See 
Amusements.) 

Dominicans,  dress,  189.  (See  Re' 
liyiont  etc.) 


410 


INDEX. 


Dominoes  in  France,  273.  (See 
Amusements. ) 

Don  Quixote,  illustration  of  pater- 
nal satire,  97. 

Dore",  Gustave,  his  kind  and  long 
letter,  345. 

Double,  Leopold,  home,  142. 

Dover  Straits,  337. 

Drama:  power  of  adaptation,  72; 
amateur  actors,  143. 

Drawing:  a  French  church,  23,  24; 
aid  to  business  letters,  363,  364. 
(See  Painters,  etc.) 

Dreams,  outgrown,  60. 

Dress:  connection  with  manners, 
120,  127;  ornaments  to  indicate 
wealth,  131;  feminine  interest, 
387;  clerical  vestments,  187, 
188,  198;  sexless,  202,  203;  of 
the  Philistines,  297,  298;  Bohe- 
mian, 304-307,  313,  314.  (See 
Women.) 

Driving,  sole  exercise,  302. 

Drunkenness:  part  of  Bohemian- 
ism.  296;  in  best  society,  297. 
(See  Table,  Wine,  etc.) 

Duelling,  French,  273. 

Du  Maurier,  George,  his  satire  on 
coffee-dealers,  133,  134. 

Dupont.  Pierre,  song  about  wine, 
268,  269,  272. 

EAR,  learning  languages  by,  156. 
(See  Languages.) 

Easter:  allusion,  198;  confession, 
281. 

Eccentricity:  high  intellect,  56;  in 
an  artis't,  307 ;  claims  indul- 
gence, 387. 

Eclipse,  superstitious  view,  215-217, 
229. 

Economy,  necessitated  by  marriage, 
26.  ('See  Wealth.)  ' 

Edinburgh  Review,  editor,  152. 

Editor,  a  procrastinating  corre- 
spondent, 317. 

Education :  similarity,  10 ;  affect- 
ing idiosyncrasy,  *  13 ;  conven- 
tional, 15;  effect  upon  humor, 
20 ;  literary,  derived  from  the 
poor,  22;  affected  by  change  in 
filial  obedience,  80-88;  home,  81 
ft  seq.  ;  authority  of  teachers,  81, 
83  ;  divergence  of  parental  and 
filial,  84;  special  efforts,  85;  di- 
vergent, 90-92;  profound  lack  of, 


91 ;  never  to  be  thrown  off,  92  ;  of 
hospitality,  99, 100  ;  the  effect  on 
all  religion  (Essay  XV.),  216-231 
passim  ;  knowledge  of  languages, 
245;  of  Tasso  family,  350,  351. 
(See  Languages,  etc.*) 

Egypt:  Suez  Canal,  xii  ;  illustra- 
tion of  school  tasks,  85;  war  of 
1882,  222-224,  229. 

Eliot,  George :  hints  from  the  poor, 
22;  her  peculiar  relation  to  Mr. 
Lewes,  45,  46,  55,  56;  often  con- 
founded with  other  writers,  290. 

Elizabeth,  Queen:  order  about  the 
marriage  of  clergy,  200;  her 
times,  381.  (See  Celibacy.) 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo :  the  dedi- 
cation, iii,  iv  ;  anecdote  of  Na- 
poleon, 367. 

England:  newspaper  reports,  41;  a 
French  woman's  knowledge  of, 
107;  respect  for  rank,  136;  title- 
worship,  137;  estimate  of  wealth, 
144-146;  slavery  to  houses,  145; 
French  ideas  slowly  received, 
150;  religious  freedom,  164-168, 
172  ;  two  religions  for  the  nobil- 
ity, 169,  170,  173  ;  a  most  relent- 
less monarch,  180:  women  dur- 
ing reign  of  Charles  II.,  181 ;  mar- 
riage rites.  184,185;  aristocracy, 
246 ;  A  Remarkable  Peculiarity 
(Essay  XVII.),  239-252;  meeting 
abroad,  239 ;  reticence  in  each 
other's  company,  240;  anecdotes, 
241,  242;  dread  of  intrusion, 
243,  244;  freedom  with  foreign- 
ers and  with  compatriots,  245; 
not  a  mark  of  aristocracy,  246; 
fear  of  meddlers,  247;  interest 
in  rank,  248;  reticence  outgrown, 
249;  Lever's  illustration,  250; 
exceptions,  251 ;  Saxon  and  Nor- 
man influence,  251,  252  ;  Dissent- 
ers ignored,  256,  257;  general 
information,  263 ;  French  igno- 
rance of  art  and  literature  in, 
265-267,  269;  game,  268;  moun- 
tains, 270,  271;  landscapes,  270; 
Church,  275;  supposed  law  about 
attending  the  Mass,  281;  homes 
longed  for,  286  ;  the  architectural 
blunders  of  tourists,  291  ;  Philis- 
tine lady,  304;  painter  and  Phi- 
listine, 306;  letters  in  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries,  318-321 ; 


INDEX. 


411 


use  of  telegraph,  323 ;  letters  short- 
ened, 325;  letter-paper  328;  post- 
cards, 329,  330;  communication 
with  France,  337 ;  trade  habits, 
361,  365 ;  reading  of  certain  books 
not  compulsory,  378;  old  maids, 
381;  winter,  3~99.  (See  Church 
of  England,  France,  etc.) 

English  Language:  ignorance  of, 
a  misfortune,  149,  150;  familiar 
knowledge  unusual  in  France, 
151-153;  forms  of  courtesy,  157; 
conversation  abroad,  240 ;  Bohe- 
mian, 295;  literature,  305;  bad 
spelling,  360,  361;  no  synonym 
for  corvee,  389;  nautical  terms, 
396.  (See  Entjlawl,  etc.) 

English  People:  Continental  repul- 
sion, 7  ;  artistic  attraction,  8  ; 
undervaluation  of  chance  conver- 
sations, 26;  looseness  of  family 
ties,  63;  ashamed  of  sentiment, 
82;  feeling  about  heredity,  93; 
one  lady's  empty  rooms,  104; 
another's  incivility,  106;  a  mer- 
chant's loss  of  wealth,  121,  122  ; 
deteriorated  aristocrat,  123;  let- 
ters by  ladies,  153;  no  consoling 
power",  182;  gentlewomen  of  for- 
mer generation,  205,  206;  where 
to  find  inspiriting  models,  208; 
companions  of  Prince  Imperial, 
225  ;  understatement  a  habit, 
234-238;  a  lady's  ignorant  re- 
mark about  servants,  258,  259; 
ignorance  of  French  mountains, 
etc.,  270-271;  fuel  and  iron,  272; 
universities,  275,  276;  patron- 
age of  Americans,  277;  anony- 
mous letter  to  a  gentleman,  376. 

Ennui:  banished  by  labor,  32;  on 
shipboard,  396. 

Enterprise,  affecting  individualism, 
14. 

Envy,  expressed  in  anonymous 
letters,  371. 

Epiphany,  annual  Egyptian  cere- 
mony, xii.  (See  Science,  Su- 
perstition, etc.) 

Epithets,  English,  235. 

Equality :  affecting  intercourse,  246 ; 
egaUte,  282,  283.  (See  Rank, 
ignorance.) 

Equestrianism,  affected  by  rail- 
ways, 14. 

Etching,  Leloir's  fondness  for,  401. 


Etheredge,  Sir  George,  his  ribaldry, 
J.81* 

Eton  College,  allusion,  277. 

hugi'iiie,  Empress :  her  influence 
over  her  husband,  176;  his  re- 
gard, 225. 

Europe:  vintages,  133;  influence 
of  Littre",  210;  Southern,  240; 
allusion,  254;  Turkey  nearly  ex- 
pelled, 278 ;  latest  thought,  306 ; 
cities,  309;  William  of  Orange, 
on  complications,  344;  commu- 
nistic disturbances,  377.  (See 
England,  France,  etc.) 

Evangelicism,  English  peculiarities, 
12.1  (See  Dissenters,  etc.) 

Evans,  Marian.  (See  George  Eliot.) 

Evolution,  theory  of,  176. 

Exaggeration,  the  habit  in  art  and 
life  (Essay  XVI.),  232-238.  (See 
Diminution.) 

Exercise:  love  of,  14;  inthevoung 
and  the  old,  86,  87.  (See  Amuse- 
mcnts.) 

Experience:  value,  30;  needed  to 
avoid  dangers  in  letter-writing, 
352. 

Extravagance:  part  of  Bohemian- 
ism,  295  ;  Goldsmith's,  310. 

FAMILY:  Ties  (Essay  V.),  63-77; 
looseness  in  England,  63;  broth- 
erly coolness,  64;  domestic  jeal- 
ousies, 65 ;  laws  of  primogeniture, 
66;  instances  of  strong  attach- 
ment, 67;  illustrations  of  kind- 
ness, 68 ;  pecuniary  relations,  69 ; 
parsimony,  70;  discomfort  of  re- 
finement, 71  ;  cousins,  72;  wife's 
relations,  73;  indifference  to  the 
achievements  of  kindred,  74;  aid 
from  relatives,  domestic  rudeness, 
75;  brutality,  misery,  76;  home 
privations,  77 ;  Fathers  and  Sons 
(Essay  VI.),  78-98;  intercourse, 
to  be  distinguished  from  individ- 
ual, 119,  120;  rich  friends,  121; 
false,  122;  children's  marriages, 
123;  old,  135,  136;  clerical,  199, 
200;  subjects  of  letters,  205;  re- 
gard of  Napoleon  III.,  225.  (See 
Brothers,  Sons,  etc.) 

Fashion,  transient,  307. 

Fathers:  separated  from  children 
by  incompatibility,  10;  by  irasci- 
bility, 75 ;  by  brutality  of  tongue, 


412 


INDEX. 


76;  and  Sons  (Essay  VI.),  78-98; 
unsatisfactory  relation,  interreg- 
num, 78;  old  and  new  feelings 
and  customs,  79;  commanding, 
80;  exercise  of  authority,  81; 
Mill's  experience,  82 ;  abdication 
of  authority,  83;  personal  edu- 
cation of  sons,  84,  85;  mistakes 
of  middle-age,  86;  outstripped 
by  sons,  87;  intimate  friendship 
impossible,  88 ;  differences  of  age, 
89 ;  divergences  of  education  and 
experience,  90,  91;  opinions  not 
hereditary,  92,  93 ;  the  attempted 
control  of  marriage,  94;  Peter  the 
Great  and  Alexis,  95 ;  other  illus- 
trations of  discord,  96 ;  satire  and 
disregard  of  personality,  97 ;  true 
foundation  of  paternal  associa- 
tion, 98;  death  of  a  French  par- 
ent, 182;  a  letter,  319-322. 

Favor,  fear  of  loss,  147. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  religious 
freedom  in  their  reign,  164. 

Fiction:  love  in  French,  41;  absorb- 
ing theme,  42;  in  a  library,  305. 

Fletcher,  Thomas,  firearms  made 
by,  391,  392. 

Florence,  Italy,  pestilence,  222. 

Flowers:  illustration,  179;  church 
use,  188;  Flower  Sunday,  189. 
(See  Women,  etc.) 

Fly,  artificial,  377. 

Fo'g,  English,  270. 

Foreigners:  associations  with,  7; 
view  of  English  family  life,  63; 
in  travelling-conditions  (Essay 
XVII),  239-252 passim;  associa- 
tion leads  to  misapprehension, 
287;  in  England,  291. 

Fox-hunting,  180,  398,  399.  (See 
Amusements,  Sports,  etc.) 

France:  a  peasant's  outlook,  xii; 
social  despotism  in  small  cities, 
17-19;  pleasant  associations  in  a 
cathedral  city,  23,  24;  political 
criticism,  115;  noisy  card-play- 
ers, 128,  129 ;  disregard  of  titles, 
136,  137;  adage  about  riches, 
145;  English  ideas  slowly  re- 
ceived, travel  in  Southern,"  150 ; 
religious  freedom,  165;  marriage, 
184;  railway  accident,  218-220; 
the  Imperialists,  225 ;  feudal  fash- 
ions, 246;  obstinacy  of  the  old 
regime,  254-256;  mountains,  271; 


vigor  of  young  men,  272,  273; 
universities,  275,  276:  equality 
attained  by  Revolution,  283; 
bourgeois  complaint  of  news- 
papers, 286;  mineral  oil,  288; 
confusion  of  tourists,  291 ;  Gold- 
smith's travels,  309,  310;  land- 
scape painter,  310 ;  end  of  Plump- 
ton  family,  323 ;  use  of  telegraph, 
323;  letters  shortened,  325;  let- 
ter-paper, 328;  post-cards,  330; 
chirography,  332;  New  Year's 
cards,  339;  carton  non  bitume, 
358,  359;  habits  of  tradesmen, 
360,  361,  365;  the  Salon,  367;  old 
maids,  381;  a  corvee,  389,  390; 
Leloir  the  painter,  401.  (See 
Continent,  etc.) 

Fraternitj',  fratemite,  282,  283. 
(See  Brothers.) 

Freedom :  national,  279;  public  and 
private  liberty  confounded,  281, 
282. 

French  Language:  teaching,  85; 
ignorance  a  misfortune,  149,  150; 
rare  knowledge  of,  by  English- 
men, 151,  152;  letters  by  Eng- 
lish ladies,  153 ;  forms  of  courtesv, 
157;  prayers,  158;  as  the  uni- 
versal tongue,  158,  159;  English 
knowledge  of,  245;  univers,  273, 
274.  (See  Lanyua^es.) 

French  People :  excellence  in  paint- 
ing, and  relations  to  Americans 
and  English,  7 ;  an  ideal  of  good 
form,  15;  old  conventionality', 
16-18  ;  love  in  fiction,  41;  family 
ties,  63;  proverb  about  cousins, 
72;  unbelieving  sons,  93;  bour- 
geois table  manners  formerlv, 
101,  102;  state  apartments,  105; 
incivility  towards,  at  an  English 
table,  10*6;  girls,  106  ;  a  woman's 
clever  retort,  107 ;  literature  con- 
demned by  wholesale,  147;  royal 
daily  life,  167;  power  of  conso- 
lation, 182;  examples  of  virtue, 
208;  old  nobility,  209;  Buffon 
and  Littre",  209-211;  hazard  pro- 
videntiel,  227;  painters,  232,  233; 
overstatement,  234,  235;  socia- 
bility with  strangers  contrasted 
with  the  English  want  of  it  (Es- 
say XVII.),  239-252  j^assim ;  a 
wi'dow  and  suite,  242,  243:  dis- 
creet social  habits,  247,  248;  a 


INDEX. 


413 


disregard  of  titles,  248 ;  a  weak 
question  about  fortune,  259;  ig- 
norance of  English  matters,  265- 
270;  wine-song,  268,  269;  fuel 
and  iron,  271,  272 ;  seeming  van- 
ity of  language,  273,  274;  con- 
ceit cured  by  war,  278;  commun- 
ist dreamers,  284;  proverb,  287; 
confusion  of  persons,  290. 

Friendship:  supposed  impossible  in 
a  given  case,  viii,  ix;  real,  x; 
how  formed,  4;  not  confined  to 
the  same  class,  5;  affected  by 
art  and  religion,  6 ;  by  taste  and 
nationality,  7,  8;  by  likeness, 
8;  with  'those  with  "whom  we 
have  not  much  in  common,  9,  10 ; 
affected  by  incompatibility,  10; 
Byron's  comparison,  30;  affect- 
ing illicit  love,  41;  akin  to  mar- 
riage, 48;  elective  affinity,  75; 
Death  of  (Essay  VIII.),  110-118; 
sad  subject,  no  resurrection,  de- 
finition, 110;  boyish  alliances, 
growth,  111;  personal  changes, 
112;  differences  of  opinion,  11-i; 
of  prosperity,  financial,  profes- 
sional, political,  114;  habits,  mar- 
riage, 115;  neglect,  poor  and  rich, 
116;  equality  not  essential,  ac- 
ceptance of  kindness,  new  ties, 
117;  intimacy  easily  destroyed, 
118;  affected  "by  wealth  (Essays 
IX.,  X.),  119-147  passim;  by 
language,  149;  between  Priests 
and  Women  (Essay  XIII.),  175- 
204  passim  ;  formed  with  stran- 
gers, 251;  leads  to  misunderstood 
opinions,  287,  288 ;  disturbed  bv 
procrastination,  317;  Letters  of, 
(Essay  XXIII.),  336-353;  infre- 
quency,  336;  obstacles,  337;  the 
sea  a  barrier,  338;  aid  of  a  few 
words  at  New  Year's,  339 ;  death 
like  silence,  340 ;  charm  of  man- 
ner not  always  carried  into  letters, 
341;  excluded  by  business,  342; 
cooled  by  reproaches,  343;  all 
topics  interesting,  to  a  friend, 
344;  affection  overflows  in  long 
letters,  345-351  ;  fault-finding 
dangerous,  352,  353;  journeys 
saved,  360.  (See  Association, 
Companionship,  Family,  etc.) 

Fruit,    ignorance    about    English, 
26d,  270. 


Fruition,  pleasure  of,  400. 

Fuel,  French,  272. 

Furniture:  feminine  interest  in, 
187 ;  regard  and  disregard  (Essay 
XXI.),  295-314  passim;  Gold- 
smith's extravagance,  310.  (See 
Women.) 

GAMBETTA,  his  death,  225. 

Game:  in  England,  267,  268,  270; 
elephant  and  hippopotamus,  392. 
(See  Sports.) 

Games,  connection  with  amusement, 
385,  397.  (See  Cards,  etc.) 

Garden,  illustration,  9. 

Gascoyne,  William,  letters,  318,  319. 

Generosity  :  affecting  familv  ties, 
69,  70;  of  a  Philistine,  301. 

Geneva  Lake,  as  seen  by  different 
eyes,  230,  231. 

Genius,  enjoyment  of,  303. 

Gentility  :  Genteel  Ignorance  (Es- 
say XVIII. ),  253-263  ;  an  ideal 
condition,  253  ;  misfortune,  254 ; 
French  noblesse,  255  ;  ignores 
differing  forms  of  religion,  256, 
257  ;  poverty,  258 ;  inferior  finan- 
cial conditions,  259,  260  ;  real  dif- 
ferences, 261  ;  genteel  society 
avoided,  262  ;  because  stupid, 
263. 

Geography  :  London  Atlas,  274  ; 
work  of  Reclus,  291.  (See  Igno- 
rance.) 

Geology,  allusion,  166.  (See  Sci- 
ence.) 

George  III.,  colonial  tenure,  279. 

Germany  :  models  of  virtue,  208  ; 
hotel  "fashions,  244 ;  a  Bohemian 
and  scholar,  304-306. 

German  Language,  English  knowl- 
edge, 245. 

Gladstone,  William  E. :  the  probable 
effect  of  a  French  training,  17, 18 ; 
indebtedness  to  trade,  135  ;  Lord, 
137  ;  foreign  troubles  ending  in 
inkshed,  150  ;  allusion,  241  ;  use 
of  post-cards,  335  ;  female  esti- 
mate, 380. 

Glasgow,  steamer  experience,  25. 

Gloucester,  Eng.,  manufactory  of 
rifles,  391,  392. 

God  :  of  the  future,  177 ;  personal 
care,  178,  179;  against  wicked- 
ness, 180;  Divine  love,  178-181, 
186,  187  ;  interference  with  law 


414 


INDEX. 


(Essay  XV.),  215-231  passim; 
human  motives,  228.  (See  Rtli- 
gion,  etc.) 

Gods  :  our  valors  the  best,  177  ; 
siege  of  Syracuse,  215-217.  (See 
Superstition.) 

Godwin,  Mary,  relations  to  Shelley, 
46-48. 

Goethe:  Faust's  Margaret,  39  ;  re- 
lation to  women,  46,  50,  56,  57  ; 
Life,  244. 

Gold:  in  embroidery  to  indicate 
wealth,  131  ;  color,"  232,  233. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  Bohemian- 
ism,  309,  310. 

Gormandizing,  103.     (See  Table.) 

Government:  feminine,  176  ;  scien- 
tific, 229. 

Grammar:  French  knowledge  of, 
152  ;  rival  of  literature,  154  ;  in 
correspondence,  356,  357.  (See 
Languages,  etc.) 

Gratitude  :  a  sister's  want  of,  69; 
hospitality  not  reciprocated,  122. 

Greece  :  Byron's  enthusiasm,  50, 
57  ;  story  of  Nikias,  215-217  ; 
advance  of  knowledge,  230  ;  By- 
ron's notice  of  a  book,  348. 

Greek  Church  :  Czar's  headship, 
168  ;  the  only  true,  258.  (See 
Church  of  England,  etc.) 

Greek  Language  :  teaching,  84  ;  fit- 
ness as  the  universal  language, 
158,  159  ;  in  the  Renaissance, 
212  ;  professorship  and  library, 
287  ;  doggerel,  400.  (See  Lan- 
guages.) 

Groom,  true  happiness  in  a  stable, 
343. 

Guests  :  Rights  of  (Essay  VIL), 
99-109  ;  respect,  exclusiveness, 
99  ;  two  views,  100  ;  conformity 
insisted  upon,  101 ;  left  to  choos'e 
for  himself,  102;  duties  towards 
a  host,  generous  entertainment, 

103  ;    parsimonious     treatment, 

104  ;    illustrations,   ideas    to   be 
respected,  105  ;  nationality  also, 
107  ;  a  host  the  ally  of  his  guests, 

107  ;  discourtesy  towards  a  host, 

108  ;  illustration,  109  ;  among  rich 
and  poor,  140-144. 

Guiccioli,  Countess,  her  relations  to 

Byron,  49,  50. 

Guillotine,  Byron's  description,  347. 
Gulliver's  Travels,  allusion,  261. 


Gymnastics  :  by  young  French- 
"inen,  272;  aristocratic  monopolv, 
283.  (See  Amusements,  etc.) 

HABITS  :  in  language,  157  ;  French 
discretion,  247,  248. 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert:  indebted- 
ness to  Emerson,  iii,  iv  ;  plan  of 
the  book,  vii-ix  ;  omissions,  ix ; 
the  pleasures  of  friendship,  x ;  on 
death,  x,  xi;  a  liking  for  civili- 
zation and  all  its  amenities,  xii; 
thoughts  in  French  travel,  17  et 
seq. ;  pleasant  experience  in  study- 
ing French  architecture,  23,  24  ; 
conversation  in  Scotland,  24,  25  ; 
in  a  steamer,  25,  26  ;  acquaintance 
with  a  painter,  28  ;  belief  in  Na- 
ture's promises,  60  et  seq. ;  what 
a  sister  said,  65;  the  love  of  two 
brothers,  67  ;  delightful  experi- 
ence with  wife's  relations,  73  ; 
experience  of  hospitable  tyranny, 
100  tt  seq.;  Parisian  dinner,  107; 
experience  with  friendship,  113  ; 
noisy  French  farmers,  128,  129  ; 
Scotch  dinner,  131  ;  country  inci- 
dent, 139,  140  ;  questioning  a 
Parisian  lady,  152  ;  Waterloo 
letters,  156  ;  how  Italian  seems 
to  him,  155  ;  incident  of  Scotch 
tiavel,  173  ;  visit  to  a  bereaved 
French  lady,  182  ;  travel  in 
France,  219  ;  lesson  from  a 
painter,  232;  snubbed  at  a  hotel, 
240-242;  a  French  widow  on  her 
travels,  242,  243;  a  lady's  igno- 
rance about  religious  distinctions, 
257 ;  personal  anecdotes  about  ig- 
norance between  the  English  and 
French,  265-279  pasaim ;  transla- 
tions into  French,  267;  Puseyite 
anecdote,  284,  285  ;  conversations 
heard,  291  ;  boat  incident,  292, 
293;  life-portraits,  300-308;  ex- 
perience with  procrastinators, 
317,  318;  residence  in  Lancashire, 
318;  interest  in  Plumpton  family, 
323,  324;  telegraphing  a  letter. 
326:  experience  with  un  mot  a 
la  poste,  330;  his  boat  wrongly 
painted,  359;  his  Parisian  corre- 
spondent, 360,  361  ;  efforts  to  en- 
sure accuracy,  368,  369 ;  a  strange 
lady's  anxiety  for  his  religious 
condition,  378 ;  his  Wenderliolme, 


INDEX. 


415 


378  ;  anonymous  letter  answered, 
379-382  ;  dislike  of  cricket,  398. 

Harewood,  Earl  of,  323. 

Haste,  connection  with  refinement 
and  wealth,  125,  126.  (See  Lei- 
sure.) 

Hastings,  Marquis  of,  his  elope- 
ment, 321. 

Haweis,  H.  R.,  sermon  on  Egyptian 
war,  224. 

Hedges:  English,  270,  271  ;  sleep- 
ing under,  307. 

Hell,  element  in  oratory,  192,  193. 
(See  Priests.) 

Heredity,  opinions  not  always  he- 
reditary, 92-97. 

Heresy  fbanishment  for,  161;  dis- 
abilities, 162  «t  seq.  ;  punishment 
by  tire,  180  ;  pulpit  attack,  11)2  ; 
shades  in,  257,  258  ;  resistance  to 
God,  284.  (See  Roman  Catholi- 
cism, etc.) 

Highlanders,  their  rowing,  154. 

Hirst,  Eng.,  letters  from,  320,  321. 

History,  French  knowledge  of,  152. 

Holland,  Goldsmith's  travels,  30!). 

Home :  Family  Ties  (Essay  V.),  62- 
77;  a  hell,  76;  crowded,  77;  ab- 
sence affecting  friendship,  111; 
French,  142;  English  (Essay  X.), 
130-147  passim ;  the  confessional, 
202;  nostalgia,  286. 

Homer  :  indebtedness  to  the  poor, 
22  ;  on  the  appetite,  103. 

Honesty,  at  a  discount,  162,  163, 
170." 

Honor,  in  religious  conformity, 
162. 

Horace:  familiarity  with,  155; 
quoted,  289,  361. 

Horneck,  Mrs.,  Goldsmith's  friend, 
310. 

Horseback:  illustration,  168,  260; 
luxury,  298. 

Hospitality:  (Essay  VII.),  99-109; 
help  to  liberty,  99 ;  an  educator 
for  right  or  wrong,  100;  opposite 
views,  100;  tyranny  over  guests, 
101;  reaction  against  old  cus- 
toms, 102;  a  host's  rights,  some 
extra  effort  to  be  expected,  103; 
disregard  of  a  guest's  comfort, 
104;  instances,  opinions  to  be 
respected,  105;  host  should  pro- 
tect a  guest's  rights,  106;  anec- 
dote, 107 ;  invasion  of  rights,  108 , 


glaring  instance,  109 ;  affected  by 
wealth,  140-144;  excuse  by  a 
procrastinator,  318.  (See  Guests.) 

Hosts,  rights  and  duties  (Essay 
VII.  )j  99-109  peurim.  (See 
Hospitality.) 

Houghton,  Lord,  his  knowledge  of 
French,  151,  152. 

Housekeeping:  ignorance  of  cost, 
258,  259;  cares,  381. 

Houses:  effect  of  living  in  the 
same,  ix;  big,  145;  evolution 
of  dress,  189;  movable,  261,  262; 
damage,  358. 

Hugo,  Victor,  use  of  a  word,  273, 
274. 

Humanity:  obligations  to,  12;  fu- 
ture happiness  dependent  upon 
a  knowledge  of  languages,  148 
el  seq. 

Humor:  in  different  classes,  20; 
lack  of  it,  72;  in  using  a  foreign 
language,  157,  158;  not  carried 
into  letters  and  pictures,  340- 
342. 

Hungarians,  their  sociability,  249. 

Hurry,  to  be  distinguished  from 
brevity  in  letter-writing,  331. 

Husbands :  narration  of  experience, 
25,  26;  unsuitable,  40;  relations 
of  noted  men  to  wives,  44-62  pas- 
sim; compulsory  unions,  94-98; 
old-fashioned  letter,  322;  use  of 
post-cards,  329,  330 ;  privacy  of 
letters,  350;  Montaigne's  letter, 
351,  352.  (See  Wives,  etc.) 

Hut:  suggestions  of  a,  261,  262;  for 
an  artist,  314. 

Huxley,  Thomas  Henry,  on  natural 
law,' 217,  219. 

Hypocrisy :  to  be  avoided,  xi-xiii ; 
Jh  religion  (Essay  XII.),  161- 
174 2>assiin  ;  not  a  "Bohemian  vice, 
296. 

IBRAHEEM,  lost  at  sea,  226. 

Ideas,  their  interchange  dependent 
upon  language,  148. 

Idiosyncrasy:  its  charm,  9;  in  art 
and  authorship,  12,  13;  nullified 
by  travel,  14, 15;  affecting  mari- 
tal happiness,  48-62  passim  : 
affecting  family  ties,  64;  wanted 
in  letters,  347;  in  amusements, 
389;  congenital,  396. 

Ignorance :  Genteel  (Essay  XVIII.  \ 


416 


INDEX. 


253-263;  among  French  roy- 
alists, 254,  255  ;  in  religion. 
256,  257;  in  regard  to  pecuniary 
conditions,  258,  259;  of  likeness 
and  unlikeness,  260,  261;  dis- 
advantages, 262;  drives  people 
from  society,  263 ;  Patriotic  (Es- 
say XIX.),  264-279;  a  narrow 
satisfaction,  264;  French  igno- 
rance of  English  art,  265,  267; 
of  English  game,  268;  of  Eng- 
lish fruit,  269;  English  errors  as 
to  mountains,  270,  271  ;  fuel, 
manly  vigor,  272,  273;  word 
universal,  274;  universities,  275, 
276;  literature,  277;  leads  to  war, 
277,  278;  not  the  best  patriotism, 
279 ;  unavoidable,  301 ;  contented, 
302;  of  gentlewomen,  381,  382. 
(See  Nationality,  etc. ) 
Imagination,  a  luxury,  300. 
Immorality:  too  easily  forgiven  in 
princes,"  168;  considered  essen- 
tial to  Bohemianism,  295.  (See 
Vice.) 

Immortality:  connection  with  mu- 
sic, 191;    menaces  and  rewards, 
193.     (See  Pritst*,  etc.) 
Impartiality,  not  shown  bv  clergy, 

194. 

Impediments,     to    national    inter- 
course (Essay  XI.),  148-160. 
Impertinence,  ease  of  manner  mis- 
taken for,  250. 

Incompatibility :  inexplicable,  10; 
one  of  two  great  powers  deciding 
intercourse,  11.  (See  FriendsJtijj. 
etc.) 

Independence:  (Essay  II.),  12-32; 
illusory  and  real,  influence  of  lan- 
guage," 12;  illustrations,  13;  rail- 
way travel  destructive  to,  14; 
conventionality  and  French  ideas 
of  good  form,  15 ;  social  repres- 
sions and  London  life,  16;  local 
despotism,  17;  the  French  rural 
aristocracy,  18 ;  illustrations  and 
social  exclusion,  19;  humor  and 
domestic  anxietv,  society  not 
essential,  20;  palliations  to  soli- 
tude, outside  of  society,  absolute 
solitude,  21;  rural  illustrations, 
22;  incident  in  a  French  town, 
23;  one  in  Scotland,  24;  on  a 
steamer,  25 ;  English  reticence, 
26;  an  evil  of  solitude,  pursuits 


in  common,  27;  illustration  from 
Mill,  deterioration  of  an  artist, 
28;  patient  endurance,  the  re- 
freshment of  books,  29;  compan- 
ionship of  nature,  30;  consolation 
of  labor,  31;  an  objection  to  this 
relief,  32;  a  fault,  69;  of  Philis- 
tines and  Bohemians  (Essay 
XXI.),  295-314  passim.  (See 
Society,  etc.) 

Independents,  the,  in  England,  170. 

India:  a  brother's  cold  farewell, 
67;  relations  of  England,  279. 

Indians,  their  Bohemian  life,  298, 
306. 

Individualism,  affected  by  railwavs, 
13-15. 

Individuality,  reliance  upon  our 
own,  iv. 

Indolence:  destroying  friendship, 
116;  stupid,  197;  causes  wrong 
judgment,  293;  part  of  Bohe- 
mianism, 295;  in  business,  356; 
in  reading  letters,  366-369. 

Indulgences,  affecting  friendship, 
115. 

Industry:  to  be  respected,  132; 
professional  work,  196;  Buffon's 
and  Littre"'s,  209,  210;  ignorance 
about  English,  265,  266;  of  a 
Philistine,  300;  in  letter-writing, 
356. 

Inertia,  in  middle-life,  302. 

Infidelity :  affecting  political  rights, 
162,  163;  withstood  by  Dissent, 
257. 

Ink:  dilution  to  save  expense,  333; 
red,  369. 

Inquisition,  the,  in  Spain,  180. 

Inspiration,  in  Jacquemont's  letters, 
348. 

Intellectuality:  a  restraint  upon 
passion,  38;  affecting  family  ties, 
73,  74;  its  pursuits,  127;  denied  to 
England,  265,  266,  267;  ambition 
for,  283 ;  the  accompaniment  of 
wealth,  297;  outside  of,  301;  en- 
joyed, 306. 

Intelligence :  the  supreme,  176, 177 ; 
connection  with  leisure,  197. 

Intercession,  feminine  fondness  for, 
175,  176. 

Intercourse.  (This  subject  is  so 
interwoven  with  the  whole  work 
that  special  references  are  im- 
possible.) 


INDEX. 


417 


Interdependence,  illustrated  by 
literary  work,  12. 

Interviews,  compared  with  letters, 
354-357. 

Intimacy:  mysteriously  hindered, 
10;  With  nature,  302. 

Intolerance,  of  amusements,  389. 

Intrusion,  dreaded  by  the  English, 
243,  247. 

Inventions,  why  sometimes  mis- 
judged, 292,  293. 

Irascibility,  in  parents,  75,  76. 

Iron,  in  France,  272. 

Irving,  Washington,  on  Goldsmith, 
310. 

Isolation:  affecting  study,  28,  29; 
alleviations,  29-31.  (See  Jndt- 
pcndtnce.) 

Italian  Language:  Latin  natural- 
ized, 155;  merriment  in  using, 
158. 

Italy:  Byron's  sojourn,  50;  Goe- 
the's, 5*1,  titles  and  poverty,  136; 
overstatement  a  habit,  234;  pa- 
pal government,  255,  256;  trav- 
elling-vans, 261,  allusion,  271; 
why  live  there,  285,  286;  tourists, 
291,  Goldsmith's  travels,  309; 
forms  in  letter-writing,  325. 

JACQUEMONT,  VICTOR,  his  letters, 
348-350. 

James,  an  imaginary  friend.  343, 
344. 

Jardin  des  Plantes,  Buffon's  work, 
209. 

Jealousy:  national,  7;  domestic, 
65,  youthful,  effect  of  primogeni- 
ture," 66;  between  England  and 
France,  150;  Greece  need  not 
awaken,  159,  excited  by  the  con- 
fessional, 202,  203 ;  in  anonymous 
letters,  371. 

Jerusalem,  the  Ark  lost,  229. 

Jewelry:  worn  by  priests,  202;  en- 
joyment of,  297. 

Jews:  not  the  only  subjects  of  use- 
ful study,  207,  208,  211;  God  of 
Battles,  *224;  advance  of  knowl- 
edge, 230.  (See  Bible.) 

John,  an  imaginary  friend,  344, 
345. 

Jones,    an    imaginary    gentleman, 

Justice:  feminine  disregard,  180; 
connection  with  priesthood,  194. 


KEBLE,  JOHN,  Christian  Year,  19b. 

Kempis,  Thomas  k,  his  great  work, 
95. 

Kenilworth,  anecdote,  277. 

Kindness,  how  to  be  received,  117. 

Kindred:  affected  by  incompatibil- 
ity, 10;  Family  Ties  (Essay  V.), 
03  77;  given  by  Fate,  75.*  (See 
Sons,  etc.) 

Kings:  divine  right,  255;  on  cards, 
289;  courtesy  in  correspondence, 
317;  a  poetic  figure,  386,  387. 
(See  Rank,  etc.) 

Knarsbrugh,  Eng.,  320. 

Knyghton,  Henry,  quotation,  251. 

LAKES,  ENGLISH,  270- 

Lancashire,  Eng. :  all  residents  not 
in  cotton -trade,  288;  residence, 
318,  drinking-habits,  378. 

Land-ownership,  131. 

Landscape :  companionship,  31 ;  ig- 
norance about  the  English,  270. 

Languages :  as  affecting  friendship, 
7;  similarity,  10;  influences  in- 
terdependence, 12;  study  of  for- 
eign, 29,  84,  85;  ignorance  of,  an 
Obstacle  (Essay  XL),  148-160; 
impediment  to  national  inter- 
course, 148  ;  mutual  ignorance  of 
the  French  and  English,  149; 
commercial  advantages,  Ameri- 
can kinship,  150;  an  imperfect 
knowledge  induces  reticence,  151; 
rarity  of  full  knowledge,  152 ;  il- 
lustrations, first  stage  of  learning 
a  tongue,  153;  second,  154;  third, 
fourth,  155;  fifth,  learning  by 
ear,  156;  absurdities,  idioms, 
forms  of  politeness,  157;  a  uni- 
versal speech,  158  ;  Greek  com- 
mended, 159;  advantages,  160; 
one  enough,  301,  305;  acquaint- 
ance with  six,  304;  foreign  letters, 
364,  365. 

Latin:  teaching,  84;  construction 
unnatural,  155;  in  the  Renais- 
sance, 212;  church, 258;  proverb, 
287;  poetry,  289;  in  telegrams, 
324  ;  Horace,  361}  corroyata,  390. 

Laws:  difficult  to  ascertain,  viii; 
human  resignation  to,  xi;  of  Hu- 
man Intercourse  (Essay  I.),  3-11; 
fixed  knowledge  difficult,  3,  com- 
mon belief,  4;  similarity  of  inter- 
est, 5;  may  breed  antagonism,  6; 


418 


INDEX. 


national  prejudices,  7;  likeness 
begets  friendship,  8;  idiosyncra- 
sy and  adaptability,  9;  intimacy 
slow,  10;  law  of  the  pleasure  of 
human  intercourse  still  hidden, 
11 ;  fixed,  179 ;  feminine  disre- 
gard, 184;  quiet  tone,  393;  regu- 
larity and  interference  (Essa}- 
XV.),  215-231  pasrim  ;  legal  dis- 
tinctions, 280,  281. 

Laymen,  contrasted  with  clerarv, 
181,  182. 

Lectures,  one-sided,  29. 

Legouve,  M. :  on  tilial  relations,  78  ; 
religious  question,  93;  anecdote 
of  chirography,  332. 

Leisure:  its  conned  ion  with  refine- 
ment, 125, 126;  varying  in  differ- 
ent professions,  196,  197. 

Leloir,  Louis,  fondness  for  etching, 
401. 

Lent,  allusion,  198. 

Letters.     (See  Correspondence.) 

Lever,  Charles:  quotation  from 
That  Boy  of  Norcott's,  249.  250; 
finances  "misunderstood,  '259,  2(50; 
boating,  259,  394. 

Lewes,  George  Henry:  relation  to 
Marian  Evans,  45;  quotation  from 
Life  of  Goethe,  244. 

Lewis,  Sir  George  Cornewall,  im- 
mortal laying,  385. 

L'Honneur  et  1' Argent,  quotation. 
304,  335. 

Liberality:  French  lack  of,  18,  19; 
induced  by  hospitality,  99,  100; 
apparent,  173. 

Libert}':  in  religion  (Essay  XII.), 
161-174 ;  private  and  public,  281, 
282;  liberte,  282,  283;  with 
friends  in  letters,  353. 

Libraries:  value,  286,  287;  narrow 
specimens,  302. 

Lies,  at  a  premium,  162,  163. 

Life:  companionship  for,  44-62;  en- 
joyed in  different  ways,  306. 

Likeness,  the  secret  of  companion- 
ship, 8. 

Limpet,  an  illustration  of  incivilitv, 
108. 

Literature:  conventional,  15;  influ- 
ence of  the  humbler  classes,  22, 
23;  softens  isolation,  29,  31; 
deaths  from  love,  39  ;  affecting 
fraternity,  64 ;  youthful  nonsense 
not  tolerated  in  books,  89;  supe- 


riority to  mercenary  motives,  132 ; 
advantages  of  mutual  national 
knowledge,  149-153;  rivals  in  its 
own  domain,  154;  not  necessarily 
religious,  198;  English  periodical, 
237;  ignorance  about  English, 
267 ;  and  Philistinism,  286,'  287 ; 
singleness  of  aim,  289 ;  English, 
305;  not  an  amusement,  400. 

Littre",  Maximilien  Paul  Emile,  his 
noble  life,  209-211. 

Livelihood,  anxiety  about,  20. 

London :  mental  independence,  16- 
18;  solitude  needless,  20;  Mill's 
rank,  56;  old  but  new,  136; 
Flower  Sunday,  189;  pestilence 
improbable,  222;  The  Times,  244; 
centre  of  English  literature,  267; 
business  time  contrasted  with  that 
of  Paris,  273;  buildings,  291; 
Palmer  leaving,  310;  cabman, 
335;  a  famous  Londoner,  399. 

Lottery,  illustrative  of  kinship,  75. 

Louis  II.,  amusements,  386-3^8. 

Louis  XVI1L,  impiety,  167. 

Louvre:  English  art  excluded,  267; 
confounded  with  other  buildings, 
291. 

Love:  of  nature,  30;  Passionate  (Es- 
say III.),  33-43;  nature,  blindness, 
33;  not  the  monopoly  of  youth, 
debauchery,  34;  permanence  not 
assured,  35;  "  in  a  cottage,"  per- 
ilous to  happiness,  socially  lim- 
ited, 36;  restraints,  higher  and 
lower,  37;  varieties,  selfishness, 
in  intellectual  people,  38;  poetic 
subject,  dying  for,  39  ;  old  maids, 
unlawful  "in  married  people,  40; 
French  fiction,  early  marriage  re- 
pressed by  civilization,  41 ;  pas- 
sion out  o'f  place,  the  endless  song, 
42;  natural  correspondences  and 
Shelley,  43;  in  marriage,  44-62; 
some  family  illustrations,  63-77 ; 
wife's  relations,  73 ;  paternal  and 
filial  (Essay  VI.),  78-98  passim; 
between  friends  (Essav  VIII.), 
110-118;  divine,  178, 179;  family, 
205.  (See  Brothers,  Famity, 
etc.) 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  serious  hu- 
mor, 20. 

Lower  Classes,  the :  English  rural, 
22;  rudeness,  75 ;  religious  privi- 
leges, 170,  171. 


INDEX. 


419 


Luxury,  material,  298.      (See  Phi- 
listinism.) 
Lyons,  France,  the  Academy,  275. 

MACAULAY,  T.  B.,  quotations,  181, 
200,  224,  344,  345. 

Macleod,  Dr.  Norman,  his  sym- 
pathy, 186,  187. 

Magistracy,  French,  283. 

Maiiometanism,  as  affecting  inter- 
course, 5. 

Malice:  harmless,  269;  in  letters, 
371-377. 

Manchester,  Eng.,  life  there,  31. 

Manners :  affected  by  wealth,  125— 
129;  by  leisure,  197;  bv  aristoc- 
racy, 246.  (See  Courteny,  etc.) 

Manufactures:  under  fixed  law, 
228;  ignorance  about  English, 
265,  266,  268. 

Marriage :  responsibility  increased, 
25,  26;  or  celibacy'?  34;  Shel- 
ley's, does  not  assure  love,  35; 
following  love,  36;  irregular,  37; 
restraints  of  superior  intellects, 
38;  love  outside  of,  40;  early 
marriage  restrained  by  civiliza- 
tion, 41;  philosophy  of  this,  42; 
Companionship  in  "(Essay  IV.), 
44-62;  life-journey,  44 ^aliena- 
tions for  the  sake  of  intellectual 
companionship,  45;  illustrations, 
46,  47;  mistakes  not  surprising, 
48;  Bvron,  49,  50;  Goethe,  51, 
52;  Mill,  53,  54;  difficulty  in 
finding  true  mates,  55;  excep- 
tional cases  not  discouraging,  56; 
easier  for  ordinary  people,  57; 
inequality,  58;  hopeless  tranquil- 
lity, 59;  youthful  dreams  dis- 
pelled, 60*;  Nature's  promises, 
how  fulfilled,  61;  "I  thee  wor- 
ship," 62;  wife's  relations,  73; 
filial  obedience,  94-97;  destroy- 
ing friendship,  115 ;  affecting 
personal  wealth,  119;  social  treat- 
ment, 120;  of  children,  123;  ef- 
fect of  royal  religion,  166;  and 
of  lower-class,  171;  civil  and 
religious,  184,  185 ;  clerical,  196, 
398-201;  of  absent  friends,  338; 
French  customs,  339 ;  Montaigne's 
sentiments,  351,  352;  slanderous, 
attempts  to  prevent,  371-375 ; 
household  cares,  38i;  breakfasts, 
385,  386.  (See  Women,  etc.) 


Mask,  a  simile,  370. 

Mediocrity,  dead  level  of,  236. 

Mediterranean  Sea,  allusion,  399. 

Meissonier,  Jean  Ernest  Louis,  his 
talent,  284. 

Melbourne,  Bishop  of,  221. 

Men,  choose  for  themselves,  197. 
(See  Marriage,  Sons,  Women, 
etc.) 

Mephistopheles,  allusion,  235. 

Merchants,  connection  with  national 
peace,  149,  150. 

Mi-rimee,  Prosper,  Correspondence, 
321. 

Metallurgy,  under  fixed  law,  228. 

Methodists,  the:  in  England,  170; 
hymns,  257. 

Michelet,  Jules,  on  the  Church,  189, 
190;  on  the  confessional,  202,  203. 

Middle  Classes:  Dickens's  descrip- 
tions, 20;  rank  of  some  authors, 
56;  domestic  rudeness,  75;  table 
customs,  103;  religious  freedom, 
170;  clerical  inferences,  183.  (See 
Classen,  Lower  Class,  etc.) 

Miguel,  Frai^ois  Auguste  Marie: 
friendship  with  Thiers,  120 ;  con- 
dition, 121. 

Military  Life:  illustration,  21;  fil- 
ial obedience,  80;  religion,  123; 
religious  conformity,  169 ;  an- 
tagonistic to  toleration,  173,  174; 
French,  272;  allusion,  300,  307. 
ill.  John  Stuart:  social  affinities, 
20;  aversion  to  unintellectual  so- 
ciety, 27,  28;  relations  to  women, 
53-55;  social  rank,  56;  education 
bv  his  father,  81-84;  on  friend- 
ship, 112,  113;  on  sneering  de- 
preciation, 237;  on  English  con- 
duct towards  strangers,  245  ;  on 
social  stupidity,  263. 

tfilnes,  Richard  Monckton.  (See 
Lord  Hourjhton.) 

Milton,  John,  Palmer's  constant  in- 
terest, 313. 

Mind,  weakened  by  concession,  147. 

Misanthropy,  appearance  of,  27. 

Montaigne,  Michel:  marriage,  59; 
letter  to  wife,  351,  352. 

Montesquieu,  Baron,  allusion,  147. 

Months,  trade  terms  for,  365. 

Morris,  Lewis-,  A  Cynic's  Day- 
dream, 393. 

Mothers,  "  loud-tongued,"  75.  (Se« 
Children,  Women,  etc.) 


420 


INDEX. 


Mountains:  climbing  affected  by 
railways,  14  ;  quotation  from 
Byron*  30;  in  pictures,  43 ;  glory 
in  England  and  France,  270,  271; 
Mont  Blanc,  where  situated, 
271. 

Mozart,  Johann  Chrysostom  Wolf- 
gang Amadeus.  allusion,  289. 

Muloch,  Dinah  Mar  a,  confounded 
with  George  Eliot,  290. 

Music:  detached  from  religion,  xii, 
xiii;  voice  of  love,  42;  affecting 
fraternity,  64;  connection  with 
religion, *191;  illustration  of  har- 
mony, 389. 

NAGGING,  by  parents,  76. 

Napoleon  I.  fand  the  Universe,  273, 
274;  privations,  308;  mot  of  the 
Pope,  341;  Re"musat  letters,  350. 

Napoleon  III. :  death,  son,  225;  ig- 
norance of  German  power,  278, 
losing  Sedan,  308. 

Nationality:  prejudices,  7;  to  be 
respected  at  table,  106,  107;  dif- 
ferent languages  an  obstacle  to 
intercourse  (Essay  XL),  148-160; 
mutual  ignorance  (Essay  XIX.), 
264-279  passim. 

National  Gallery,  London,  291. 

Nature:  compensations,  iv;  causes, 
xii;  laws  not  deducible  from 
single  cases,  4;  inestimable  gifts, 
26;  beauty  an  alleviation  of  soli- 
tude, loyalty,  30,  31;  opposed 
to  civilization  in  love-matters, 
41;  universality  of  love,  42,  43; 
promises  fulfilled,  60-62;  revival 
of  study,  212 ;  laws  fixed  (Essay 
XV.),  215-231  passim;  De  Saus- 
sure's  study,  230,  231 ;  expressed 
in  painting,  232,  233:  nearness, 
303-314  passim ;  her  destrovers, 
393. 

Navarre,  King  Henry  of,  224. 

Navy,  a  young  officer's  acquain- 
tance, 25,  26. 

Neglect,  destro3rs  friendship,  116. 

Nelson,  Lord:  the  navv  in  his  time, 
279;  letter  in  battle,*  327,  328. 

Nerves,  affected  by  rudeness,  128, 
129. 

New  England,  a  blend  native,  240. 

Newspapers:  on  nature  and  the 
supernatural,  xii;  adultery  re- 
ports in  English,  41;  personal 


interest,  124;  regard  for  titles, 
137 ;  quarrels  between  English 
and  American,  150 ;  reading, 
156;  on  royalty,  166,  167  ;  deaths 
in,  225;  English  and  French  sub- 
servience to  rank,  248;  a  bour- 
geois complaint,  286  ;  crossing 
the  seas,  337,  338. 

New  Year's,  French  customs,  339. 

Niagara  Rapids,  290. 

Night,  Palmer's  watches,  312. 

Nikias,  a  military  leader,  his  su- 
perstition, 215-217,  229. 

Nineteenth  Century,  earlier  half, 
205,  206. 

Nobility:  the  English  have  two 
churches  to  choose  from,  169- 
171,  173;  opposition  to  Dissent, 
256,  257. 

Nonconformity,  English,  256,  257. 
(See  Dissent,  etc.) 

Normans,  influence  of  the  Conquest, 
251,  252. 

OATHS,  no  obstacle  to  hypocrisy, 
162. 

Obedience,  filial  (Essay  VI.),  78-98. 

Observation,  cultivated,  290,  291. 
.Obstacles:   of   Language,   between 
nations  (Essay  XI.),  148-160;  of 
Religion  (Essay  XII  ),  161-174. 

Occupations,  easily  confused,  288, 
289. 

Oil,  mineral,  288. 

Old  Maids,  defence,  379-382. 

Olympus,  unbelief  in  its  gods,  162. 

Oman,  sea  of,  226. 

Opinions:  not  the  result  of  volition, 
xiii;  of  guests  to  be  respected, 
105, 106;  changes  affecting  friend- 
ship, 112,  113. 

Orange,  William  of,  correspond- 
ence, 344,  345. 

Oratory,  connection  with  religion, 
xii,  191-195. 

Order  of  the  Universe,  to  be  trust- 
ed, Hi. 

Originality:  seen  in  authorship,  12; 
how  hindered  and  helped,  13,  14; 
French  estimate,  15. 

Orthodoxy,  placed  on  a  level  with 
hypocrisy,  162,  163. 

Ostentation,  to"  be  shunned  in 
amusements,  401. 

Oxford :  <  pinion  of  a  learned  doc- 
tor  about  Christ's  divinity,  6; 


INDEX. 


421 


Shelley's  expulsion,  96;   its  an- 
tiquity, 275,  276. 

PAGANISM  :  hypocrisy,  and  pre- 
ferment, 162;  gods  and  wars, 
224. 

Paget,  Lad}'  Florence,  curt  letter, 
321. 

Pain,  feminine  indifference  to,  180. 

Painters:  taste  in  travel,  14;  de- 
terioration of  a,  28  ;  discovering 
new  beauties,  60;  Corot,  310,  311; 
Palmer,  312,  one  in  adversity, 
314  ;  gayety  not  in  pictures, 
341  ;  sketches  in  letters,  345;  of 
boats,  359;  lack  of  business  in 
French  painter,  367,  368;  idle 
sketches,  400;  Leloir,  401. 

Painter's  Camp  in  the  Highlands, 
379. 

Painting:  fondness  for  it  a  cause 
of  discord,  6  ;  French  excellence, 
8;  interdependence,  13;  high 
aims,  28;  palpitating  with  love, 
43  ;  affecting  fraternity,  64 ; 
none  in  heaven,  191 ;  not  ne- 
cessarily religious,  198;  copies, 
203;  two  methods,  232,  233; 
convenient  building,  261;  igno- 
rance about  English,  265-267; 
not  merely  an  amusement,  400. 
(See  Art,  etc.) 

Paleontology,  allusion,  206. 

Palgrave,  Gifford,  saved  from  ship- 
wreck, 226-228. 

Palmer,  George,  a  speech,  223. 

Palmer,  Samuel,  his  Bohemianism, 
312,  313. 

Palmer,  William,  in  Russia,  257, 
258. 

Paper,  used  in  correspondence, 
328. 

Paradise:  the  arts  in,  191;  affecting 
pulpit  oratory,  193.  (See  Priests. ) 

Paris  :  an  artistic  centre,  8  ;  in- 
civility at  a  dinner,  107;  effect 
of  wealth,  121  ;  elegant  house, 
142  ;  English  residents,  150  ; 
a  lady's  reply  about  English 
knowledge  of  French  language, 
152;  Notre  Dame,  190;  Jardin 
des  Plantes,  209 ;  hotel  incident, 
240-242;  not  a  desert,  242;  light 
of  the  world,  266,  267,  274; 
resting  after  dejeuner,  273;  con- 
fusion about  buildings,  291 ;  an 


illiterate  tradesman,  360,  361 ; 
the  Salon,  367. 

Parliament:  illustration  of  hered- 
ity, 93  ;  indebtedness  of  mem- 
bers to  trade,  135;  infidelity  in, 
162;  superiority  of  pulpit,  *191  ; 
George  Palmer,  223;  questions 
in,  241;  Houses,  29  i. 

Parsimonv  :  affecting  family  ties, 
70;  in  hospitality,  104,  105. 

Patriotism :  obligations,  12;  Little's, 
210;  Patriotic  Ignorance  (Essay 
XIX.),  264-279;  places  people  in 
a  dilemma,  264;  anecdotes  of 
French  and  English  errors,  about 
art,  literature,  mountains,  land- 
scapes, fuel,  ore,  schools,  lan- 
guage, 265-277  ;  ignorance  lead- 
ing to  war,  277-279;  suspected 
of  lacking,  287-288. 

Peace,  affected  by  knowledge  of 
languages,  148-150,  160. 

Peculiarity,  of  English  people  to- 
wards each  other  (Essay  XVII.), 
239-252. 

Pedagogues,  their  narrowness,  154. 

Pedestrianism :  as  affected  by  rail- 
ways, 14;  in  France,  272,  273; 
not  enjoyed,  302. 

Peel,  Arthur,  his  indebtedness  to 
trade,  135. 

Pencil,  use,  when  permissible,  333. 

Periodicals,  akin  to  correspondence, 
30. 

Persecution,  feminine  sympathy 
with,  80,  181. 

Perseverance,  Buffon's  and  Little's, 
209,  210. 

Personality:  its  "abysmal  deeps," 
11;  repressed  by  conventionality, 
15 ;  accompanies  independence, 
17;  affecting  family  ties,  63-77 
passim;  paternal  an'd  filial  differ- 
ences, 78-98  passim;  its  frank 
recognition,  98;  confused,  anec- 
dotes, 289,  290. 

Persuasion,  feminine  trust  in,  175. 

Pestilence,  God's  anger  in,  222. 

Peter  the  Great,  sad  relations  to 
his  son,  95,  96. 

Philistinism  :  illustrative  stories, 
285,  286;  defined,  297;  passion 
for  comfort,  298;  asceticism  and 
indulgence,  299,  300;  a  life-por- 
trait, 300-303  ;  estimate  of  life, 
203  ;  an  English  lady's  parlor, 


422 


INDEX. 


304,   305;  contrast,   306;  avoid- 
ance of  needless  exposure,  313. 

Philology:  a  rival  of  literature,  154; 
favorable  to  progress  in  language, 
155. 

Philosophy  :  detached  from  reli- 
gion, xfi ;  rational  tone,  193. 

Photography :  a  French  experience, 
24;  under  fixed  law,  228. 

Physicians:  compared  with  priests, 
186  ;  rational,  193;  Littre's  ser- 
vice, 210. 

Picturesque,  regard  for  the,  7. 

Piety:  and  law  (Essay  XV.),  215- 
231  passim;  shipwreck,  226, 
227. 

Pitt,  William,  foreign  disturbances 
in  his  day,  150. 

Pius  VII.,  on  Napoleon,  341. 

PUiy,  boyish  friendship  in,  111.     • 

Pleasures,  three  in  amusements, 
399,  400. 

Plebeians,  in  England,  251,  252. 

Plumpton  Correspondence,  318- 
323,  331. 

Poetry:  detached  from  religion, 
xii;  of  love,  42;  dulness  to,  47; 
Shelley's,  47;  Byron's,  50,  345- 
349;  Goethe's,  51;  and  science, 
57;  Tennyson  on  Brotherhood, 
67;  lament,  73;  art,  154;  music  in 
heaven,  191;  Keble,  198;  Battle 
of  Ivry,  224;  French,  268.  269; 
Latin, "loyalty  of  Tennyson,  289; 
French  couplet,  304;  in  a  library, 
305;  "If  I  be  dear,"  325; 
Horace,  361;  Palace  of  Art,  386; 
quotation  from  Morris,  393;  line 
about  anticipation,  399. 

Poets:'  ideas  about  the  harmlessness 
of  love,  36;  avoidance  of  prac- 
tical difficulties,  39  ;  love  in 
natural  scenery,  43. 

Politics:  conventional,  15;  French 
narrowness,  18,  19;  coffee-house, 
28;  inherited  opinions,  93;  opin- 
ions of  guests  to  be  respected, 
105,  106;  affecting  friendship, 
113-115;  affected  by  ignorance 
of  language,  148,  150",  160;  adap- 
tation of  Greek  language,  158; 
disabilities  arising  from  religion, 
161-174  ;  divine  government, 
229;  genteel  ignorance,  254-256; 
votes  sought,  257;  affected  by 
national  ignorance,  277-279,  dis- 


tinctions   confounded,    280-284; 
verses  on  letter- writing,  335. 
Ponsard,  Francois,  quotations,  304, 

Popes:  their  infidelity,  162;  tempo- 
ral power,  255,  256.  (See  Roman 
Catholicism,  etc.) 

Popular  Notions,  often  wrong,  292. 

Postage,  cheap,  336. 

Postal  Union,  a  forerunner,  159. 

Post-cards,  affecting  correspond- 
ence, 329,  330,  335. 

Poverty:  allied  with  shrewdness, 
22;  affecting  friendship  (Essay 
IX.),  116,  119-129;  priestly  vis- 
its, 183;  Littre"'s  service,  210; 
ignorance  about,  258-260 ;  French 
rhyme,  304;  not  always  the  con- 
comitant of  Bohemianism,  309; 
not  despised,  314;  in  epistolary 
forms,  317. 

Prayers:  reading  in  French,  158; 
averting  calamities,  220-231  jotw- 
sim. 

Prejudices:  about  great  men,  4; 
national,  7;  of  English  gentle- 
women, 382. 

Pride :  of  a  wife,  59  ;  in  family 
wealth,  66;  refusal  of  gifts,  68  ; 
in  shooting,  390. 

Priesthood :  Priests  and  Women 
(Essay  XIII.),  175-204;  meeting 
feminine  dependence,  178;  affec- 
tionate interest,  179;  representing 
God,  182;  sympathy,  183;  mar- 
riages and  burials,  184;  baptism 
and  confirmation,  185;  death, 
186 ;  Queen  Victoria's  reflections, 
186,  187;  aesthetic  interest,  188; 
vestments,  189;  architecture,  190; 
music,  191;  oratory  and  dignity, 
192;  heaven  and  hell,  193;  par- 
tisanship, 194  ;  association  in 
benevolence,  195;  influence  of 
leisure,  196;  custom  and  cere- 
mony, 197;  holy  seasons,  198; 
celibacy,  199;  marriage  in  for- 
mer times,  200;  sceptical  sons, 
201 ;  confessional,  202 ;  assump- 
tion of  superiority,  203;  perfunc- 
tory goodness,  20*4. 

Primogeniture,  affecting  family  ties, 
66. 

Privacy:  of  a  host,  to  be  respected, 
109  f  in  letters,  350,  357. 

Procrastination :  in  correspondence, 


INDEX. 


423 


318,  319,  356;  anecdotes,  366- 
369. 

Profanity,  definition,  208. 

Professions,  contrasted  with  trades, 
132,  133. 

Progress,  five  stages  in  the  study 
of  language,  153-157. 

Promptness  :  in  correspondence, 
316,  317,  329;  in  business,  368. 

Propriety,  cloak  for  vice,  297. 

Prose:  an  art,  154;  eschewed  by 
Tennyson,  289. 

Prosody,  rival  of  literature,  154. 

Protestantism:  in  France,  19,  165, 
256;  Prussian  tyranny,  173;  ex- 
clusion of  music,  191;  clerical 
marriages,  200,  201;  auricular 
confession,  201-203;  liberty  in- 
fringed, 281. 

Providence  and  Law  (Essay  XV.), 
215-231  passim. 

Prussia:  Protestant  tyranny,  173; 
a  soldier's  cloak,  189;  military 
strength,  278. 

Public  Men,  wrong  judgment 
about,  4. 

Punch's  Almanack,  quoted,  133. 

Pursuits,  similarity  in,  10. 

Puseyism,  despised,  284,  285. 

Puzzle,  language  regarded  as  a, 
153,  154. 

RABELAIS,  quotation,  165. 

Racehorses,  illustration,  65. 

Radicalism,  definition,  282,  283. 

Railways:  affecting  independence, 
13-15;  meditations  in  a  French, 
17;  story  in  illustration  of  rude- 
ness, 108,  109;  distance  from, 
116;  French  accident,  218-220; 
moving  huts,  261,  262;  Stephen- 
son's  locomotive,  293;  allusion, 
309;  journevs  saved,  360;  com- 
pared to  sailing,  395. 

Rain :  cause  of  accident,  219 ;  prayers 
for,  221. 

Rank  :  a  power  for  good,  5;  conver- 
sation of  French  people  of,  16; 
pursuit  of,  27 ;  discrimination  in 
hospitality,  104;  affecting  friend- 
ship, 116;  Differences  (Essay  X.), 
130-147;  social  precedence,  130; 
land  and  money,  131;  trades  and 
profession?,  132-135;  unreal  dis- 
tinctions, 135;  to  be  ignored,  136; 
English  and  Continental  views, 


136,  137;  family  without  title. 
138:  affecting  hospitality,  139- 
145;  price,  deference,  145-147; 
English  admiration,  241, 242,  248, 
249-252;  connection  with  amuse- 
ment, 383-401  passim. 

Rapidity,  in  letter-writing,  324,  325. 

Reading,  in  a  foreign  language, 
154-158. 

Reading,  Kng.,  speech,  223,  224. 

Reasoning,  in  letters,  384,  385. 

Rebels,  contrasted  with  reformers, 
280. 

Recreation,  the  purpose  of  amuse- 
ment, 389. 

Reeve,  Henry,  knowledge  of  French, 
152. 

Reformers,  and  rebels,  280,  281. 

Refinement:  affecting  family  har- 
mony, 64;  companionship,  71; 
enhanced  by  wealth,  125,  126. 

Religion:  affecting  human  inter- 
course, xi-xiii;  detached  from 
the  arts,  xii ;  affecting  friendship, 
5,  6;  conventional,  15;  Chelten- 
ham prejudice,  19;  formal  in  Eng- 
land, 63;  affecting  fraternity,  64; 
affecting  family  regard,  74;  cler- 
gyman's son,  90,  91 ;  family  dif- 
ferences, 93,  94;  to  be  respected 
in  guests,  105,  106;  destroying 
friendship,  113 ;  Evangelical, "123; 
personal  deterioration,  124 ;  mer- 
cenary motives,  132,  133;  title- 
worsliip,  137 ;  an  Obstacle  (Essay 
XII.),  161-174;  the  dominant, 
161 ;  a  hindrance  to  honest  people, 
162;  dissimulation,  163;  apparent 
liberty,  164;  social  penalties,  165; 
no  liberty  for  princes,  166;  French 
illustration,  167  ;  roval  liberty  in 
morals,  168;  official  conformity, 
169;  greater  freedom  in  the  lower 
ranks,  170;  less  in  small  commu- 
nities, 171 ;  liberty  of  rejection  and 
dissent,  172;  false  position,  173; 
enforced  conformity,  174;  Priests 
and  Women  (Essay  XIII.).  175- 
204;  of  love,  178,  *179;  Why  we 
are  Apparently  becoming  Less 
Religious  (Essay  XIV.).  205-214; 
meditations  of  ladies  of  former 
generation,  205;  trust  in  Bible, 
206 ;  idealization,  207 ;  Nineteenth 
Century  inquiries,  208;  Huffon  as 
an  illustration,  209;  Littre,  210; 


424 


INDEX. 


compared  with  Bible  characters, 
211;  the  Renaissance,  212;  boun- 
daries outgrown,  213;  less  theol- 
ogy, 214;  How  we  are  Really 
becoming  Less  Religious  (Essay 
XV.).  215-231  ;  superstition,  215; 
supernatural  interference,  216, 
217 ;  idea  of  law  diminishes  emo- 
tion, 218;  railway  accident,  219; 
prayers  and  accidents,  220;  future 
definition,  221;  penitence  and 

,  punishment,  222 ;  war  and  God, 
223;  natural  order,  224;  Provi- 

•  dence,  225;  salvation  from  ship- 
wreck, 226;  un  hazard  prwiden- 
tiel,  227  ;  irreliyion,  228;  less 
piety,  229;  devotion  and  science, 
230;'  wise  expenditure  of  time, 
231 ;  feuds,  240 ;  genteel  igno- 
rance of  established  churches, 
255-258 ;  French  ignorance  of 
Knglish  Church,  275 ;  distinctions 
confounded,  281,282;  intolerance 
mixed  with  social  contempt,  284, 
285;  activity  limited  to  religion 
and  riches,  301 ;  in  old  letters, 
320,  321,  323;  female  interest  in 
the  author's  welfare,  377,  378; 
in  theology,  379,  380.  (See 
Church  of'ttnyland,  Methodism, 
Protestantism,  etc.) 

Re"musat,  Mme.  de,  letters,  350. 

Renaissance,  expansion  of  study  in 
the,  212. 

Renan,  Ernest,  one  objection  to 
trade,  132. 

Republic,  French,  254,  283,  284. 

Residence,  affecting  friendship,  116. 

Respect :  the  road'to  filial  love,  98; 
why  liked,  122;  in  correspond- 
ence, 316. 

Restraints,  of  marriage  and  love, 
36,37. 

Retrospection,  pleasures  of,  400. 

Revolution,  French,  209,  246,  283. 
(See  France.) 

Riding,  Lever's  difficulties,  260. 

Rifles:  in  hunting,  391-393;  names, 
392. 

Rights.  (See  different  heads,  such 
as  Hospitality,  Sons,  etc.) 

Robinson  Crusoe,  illustration,  21. 

Rock,  simile,  251. 

Roland,  his  sword  Durindal,  391. 

Roman  Camp,  site.  14. 

.Roman  Catholicism:    its  effect  on 


companionship,  6;  seen  in  rural 
France,  19;  illustration  of  the 
Pope,  87;  infidel  sons,  93;  wis- 
dom of  celibacy,  120;  infidel 
dignitaries,  162;  'liberty  in  Spain, 
164;  royalty  hearing  Mass,  167; 
military  salute  to  the  Host,  169; 
recognition  in  England,  169,  170, 
173;  Continental  intolerance,  172, 
173;  a  conscientious  traveller, 
173;  oppression  in  Prussia,  173; 
tradesmen  compelled  to  hear 
Mass,  174;  Madonna's  influence, 
176;  priestly  consolation,  183; 
use  of  art,  188-190;  Dominican 
dress,  189 ;  cathedrals,  the  Host, 
190;  astuteness,  celibacy,  199; 
female  allies,  200;  confessional, 
201,  202;  feudal  tenacity,  255; 
Protestantism  ignored,  256;  Ro- 
manism ignored  by  the  Greek 
Church,  258;  compulsory  attend- 
ance, 282.  (See  Pritsthood,  Re- 
ligion, etc.) 

Romance:  like  or  dislike  for,  7; 
glamour  of  love,  42. 

Rome:  people  not  subjected  to  the 
papacv,  255,  256 ;  Byron's  letter, 
347.  * 

Rossetti,  on  Mrs.  Harriett  Shelley, 
46. 

Rouen  Cathedral,  190. 

Royal  Academy,  London,  266,  276. 

Royal  Society,  London,  274. 

Royalty,  its  religious  bondage,  166- 
169,  171. 

Rugby,  residence  of  a  father,  84. 

Ruolz,  the  inventor,  his  bituminous 
paper,  358,  359. 

Russell,  Lord  Arthur,  his  knowl- 
edge of  French,  152. 

Russia:  religious  position  of  the 
Czar,  368;  orthodoxy,  257,  258; 
war  with  Turkey,  "  278.  (See 
Greek  Church.) 

SABBATH,  its  observance,  123. 
Sacredness,  definition  of,  208. 
Sacrifices :  demanded  bv  courtesy, 

315,  316;   in  letter- writing,  329- 

331 ;  to  indolence,  368. 
Sahara,  love-simile,  60. 
Saint  Bernard,  qualities,  230,  231. 
Saint  Hubert's  Day,  carousal,  345. 
Saints,  in  every  occupation,  209. 
Salon,  Freuch,*266,  276,  367. 


INDEX. 


425 


Sarcasm:  lasting  effects,  66;  brutal 
and  paternal,  97. 

Satire.     (See  Sarcasm.) 

Savagery,  return  to,  298.  (See 
Barbarism,  Civilization.) 

Saxons,  influence  in  England,  251, 
252. 

Scepticism:  and  religious  rites, 
184,  185;  in  clergymen's  sons, 
201.  (See  Heresy.) 

Schools,  prejudice  against  French, 
106. 

Schuyler's  Life  of  Peter  the  Great, 
96. 

Science :  study  affected  by  isola- 
tion, 29;  and  poetry,  57;*  superi- 
ority to  mercenary  motives,  132 ; 
in  language,  154;  adaptation  of 
Greek  language  to,  158;  illustra- 
tion, 166;  cold,  176,  178,  190; 
disconnected  with  religion,  198 ; 
affecting  Bible  study,  206;  con- 
nection with  religion  (Essay 
XV.),  215-231  passim. 

Scolding,  75,  76. 

Scotland:  a  chance  acquaintance, 
25,  26;  gentleman's  sacrifice  for 
his  son,  84;  incident  in  a  coun- 
try-house, 131;  religious  incident 
in*  travel,  173  ;  a  painter's  hint, 
232;  the  Highlands,  271 ;  scenery, 
379;  cricket  impossible,  398. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter :  indebtedness  to 
the  poor,  22;  Lucy  of  Lammer- 
moor,  39,  143,  144;*  Jeanie  Deans, 
175;  supposed  American  igno- 
rance of,  277;  quotation  from 
Waverley,  327;  Provost's  letter, 
365. 

Sculpture:  warmed  by  love,  42,  43; 
none  in  heaven,  191;  ignorance 
about  English,  265.  (See  Art,etc.) 

Seals  on  letters,  326-328. 

Secularists:  in  England,  171;  tame 
oratory,  193. 

Sedan,  cause  of  lost  battle,  308. 

Seduction,  how  restrained,  38. 

Self-control,  grim,  397. 

Self-esteem,  effect  of  benevolence 
in  developing,  196. 

Self-examination,  induced  by  let- 
ters. 380. 

Self-indulgence,  of  opposite  kinds, 
299,  300? 

Self-interest :  affecting  friendship, 
116;  at  the  confessional,  202. 


Selfishness:  affected  by  marriage, 
26;  desire  for  comfort,  27;  affect- 
ing passion,  38;  in  hosts,  101, 
102;  in  a  letter,  334;  in  amuse- 
ments, 397. 

Sensuality,  connection  with  Bohe- 
mianism,  296. 

Sentences,  reading,  156. 

Sentiment,  none  in  business,  353, 
364. 

Separations:  between  friends,  111- 
118;  letter-writing  during,  338; 
Tasso  family.  350.  351. 

Sepulchre,  wliited.  297. 

Sermons:  one-sided,  29;  in  library, 
302. 

Servants:  marriage  to  priests,  200; 
often  needful,  259;  concomitants 
of  wealth,  297,  298;  none,  307; 
in  letters,  324 ;  anonymous  letter, 
376 ;  hired  to  wait,  397. 

Severn  River,  270. 

Sexes :  pleasure  in  association,  3 ; 
passionate  love,  34;  relations 
socially  limited,  36,  37 ;  antago- 
nism of  nature  and  civilization, 
41;  in  natural  scenery,  43;  in- 
harmony  in  marriages,  44-62 
passim;  sisters  and  brothers,  65; 
connection  with  confession,  201- 
204;  lack  of  analysis,  280;  Bohe- 
mian relations,  296,  297. 

Shakspeare:  indebtedness  to  the 
poor,  22;  Juliet,  39;  portraiture 
of  youthful  nonsense,  88;  allu- 
sion bv  Grant  White,  277 ;  Mac- 
beth and  Hamlet  confused,  290  ; 
Polonius's  advice  applied  to  Gold- 
smith, 310. 

Shellev,  Percy  Bvsshe:  his  study 
of  p'ast  literature,  13;  passionate 
love,  34;  marriages,  35,  46-48, 
55,  56;  quotation,  43;  disagree- 
ment with  his  father,  96,  97. 

Ships:  passing  the  Suez  canal,  xii; 
interest  of  Peter  the  Great,  and 
dislike  of  his  »on,  85;  at  siege  of 
Syracuse,  215;  of  war,  277,  278: 
as  affecting  correspondence,  #57; 
drifting,  378 ;  fondness  for  details, 
394. 

Shoeblack,  illustration,  335. 

Shyness,  English,  245. 

Siamese  Twins,  allusion,  290. 

Silence,  golden,  85. 

Sin,  affecting  pulpit  oratory,  193. 


426 


INDEX. 


Sir,  the  title,  137. 

Sisters:  affection,  63-77  passim; 
jealousy  of  admiration,  05 ;  pecu- 
niary obligations,  how  regarded, 
69. 

Slander:  by  rich  people,  146,  147; 
in  anonymous  letters,  370—377. 

Slang,  commercial,  365. 

Slovenliness,  part  of  Bohemianism, 
296. 

Smith,  an  imaginary  gentleman, 
130. 

Smith,  Jane,  an  imaginary  charac- 
ter, 178. 

Smoking :  affecting  friendship,  1 15 ; 
Bohemian  practice,  305. 

Snobbery,  among  English  travel- 
lers, 240-242. 

Sociability:  affecting  the  appetite, 
102;  English  want  of  (Essay 
XVII.),  239-252 ;  in  amusements, 
383,  384. 

Society:  good,  in  France,  15,  36; 
eccentricity  no  barrier  in  London, 
16-18;  exclusion,  21,  22;  unex- 
pectedly found,  23-26 ;  alienation 
from  common  pursuits,  27,  28 ; 
aid  to  study,  29-31;  restraints 
upon  love,  36,  37 ;  laws  set  aside 
by  George  Eliot,  45,  46,  55 ;  Goe- 
the's detiance,  52.  56,  57;  rights 
of  hospitality,  illustrated  (Essay 
VII.),  99-109;  aristocratic,  124; 
affected  by  rank  and  wealth  (Es- 
say X.),  130-147  passim  ;  and  by 
religion  (Essay  XII.),  161-174 
passim;  ruled  by  women,  176; 
tyranny,  181;  clerical  leisure, 
196,  197;  inimical  to  Littre,  210; 
absent  air  in,  237;  affected  by 
Gentility  (Essay  XVIIL),  253- 
263;  secession  of  thinkers,  262, 
263;  intellectual,  303;  usages, 
304;  outside  of,  307. 

Socrates,  allusion,  204. 

Solicitors,  their  industry,  196. 

Solitude:  social,  19;  dread,  21; 
pleasant  reliefs,  22-26;  serious 
evil,  27;  sometimes  demoralizing, 
28;  affecting  study,  29;  mitiga- 
tions, 29-31;  preferred,  31;  for- 
gotten in  labor,  31,  32;  picture  of, 
43;  Shelley's  fondness,  47;  free 
space  necessary,  77;  dislike 
prompting  to  hospitality  (q.  v.), 


Sons :  separated  from  fathers  by  in- 
compatibility, 10;  escape  from 
paternal  brutality,  76;  Fathers 
and  (Essay  VI.),  78-98;  change 
of  circumstances,  78;  former  obe- 
dience, 79;  orders  out  of  fashion, 
80;  outside  education,  81 ;  educa- 
tion by  the  father,  82-85;  rapidity 
of  youth,  86,  87  ;  lack  of  paternal 
resemblance,  88 :  differing  tastes, 
89;  fathers  outgrown,  90;  chan- 
ges in  culture,  91;  reservations, 
92;  differing  opinions,  93;  old- 
time  divisions,  94;  an  imperial 
son,  95;  other  painful  instances, 
96;  wounded  by  satire,  97;  right 
basis  of  sonship,  98.  (See  Fam* 
ily,  Fathers,  etc.) 

Sorbonne,  the,  professorship  of  Eng- 
lish, 152. 

Southey,  Robert,  Life  of  Nelson, 
327. 

Spain:  religious  freedom,  164  ;  her- 
etics burned,  180. 

Speculation,  compared  with  experi- 
ence, 30. 

Speech,  silvern,  85. 

Spelling,  inaccurate,  360.  (See 
Languages,  etc.) 

Spencer,  Herbert :  made  the  cover 
for  an  assault  upon  a  guest's  opin- 
ions, J06  ;  on  display  of  wealth, 
145;  confidence  in  nature's  laws, 
227. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  his  poetic  stanza, 

Sports:  often  comparatively  unre- 
strained, 36  ;  affecting  fraternity, 
64  ;  youth  fitted  lor,  86 ;  rough- 
ening influence,  100  ;  affecting 
friendship,  115;  aristocratic,  124; 
among  the  rich,  143  ;  ignorance 
about  English,  267,  268 ;  concom- 
itant of  wealth,  297 ;  not  enjoyed, 
302  ;  William  of  Orange's,  345  ; 
connection  with  amusement,  385- 
401  passim. 

Springtime  of  love,  34. 

Stanford's  London  Atlas,  274. 

Stars,  illustration  of  crowds,  77. 

Steam,  no  help  to  friendship,  337. 

Stein,  Baroness  von,  relations  to 
Goethe,  51-53. 

Stephenson,  George,  his  locomotive 
not  a  failure,  293. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  her  works 


INDEX. 


427 


confounded  with  George  Eliot's, 
290. 

Strangers,  treatment  of  by  the  Eng- 
lish and  others  (Essay  XVII.), 
239-252  passim. 

Stream,  illustration  from  the  impos- 
sibility of  upward  How,  98. 

Strength,  accompanied  with  exer- 
cise, 302. 

Studies  :  affecting  friendship,  111  ; 
literary  and  artistic,  400,  401. 

Subjugation,  the  motive  of  display 
of  wealth,  145. 

Suez  Canal,  and  superstition,  xii. 

Sunbeam,  yacht,  138, 139. 

Sunday  :  French  incident,  128, 129; 
allusion,  198;  supposed  law,  281. 
(See  Sabbath.) 

Sunset,  allusion,  31. 

Supernaturalism  (Kssay  XV.),  215- 
231  passim;  doubts"  about,  377, 
378. 

Superstition  and  religion  (Essav 
XV.),  2l5-231/>rr.-«;>«. 

Surgeon,  an  artistic,  289. 

Sweden,  king  of,  308. 

Swedenborgianism,  commended  to 
the  author,  378. 

Swilt.  Jonathan,  Gulliver's  box, 
201. 

Swimming:  affected  by  railways, 
14;  in  France,  272. 

Switzerland:  epithets  applied  to, 
235;  tourists,  240;  Alps,  271; 
Goldsmith's  travels,  309;  Dore's 
travels,  345. 

Sympathy:  with  an  author,  9;  one 
of  two  great  powers  deciding 
human  intercourse,  11;  of  a  mar- 
ried man  with  a  single,  25,  26; 
between  parents  and  children 
(Essay  VI.),  78-98  passim;  be- 
tween Priests  and  Women  (Kssav 
XIII.  part  i.),  175-W)  passim.  " 

Symposium,  antique,  allusion,  29. 

Syracuse,  siege,  215-217,  223. 

TABLE:  its  pleasures  comparatively 
unrestrained,  30;  former  tyranny 
of  hospitality,  101,  1<'2:  modern 
customs,  appetite  affected  by  so- 
ciability, 102;  excess  not  required 
by  hospitality,  103;  French  fash- 
ion, 105;  instances  of  bad  man- 
ners, 106,  107,  126-128;  rules  of 
precedence,  130,  131;  matrons 


occupied  with  cares,  140,  141 ; 
among  the  rich,  143:  tyranny, 
172;  English  manners  towards 
strangers  contrasted  "with  those 
of  other  nations  (Essay  XVII.), 
239-252;  dejeuner,  273;  among 
the  rich,  297;  talk  about  hunting. 
398,  399. 

Talking,  contrasted  with  writing, 
354-357. 

Tasso,  Bernardo,  father  of  the  poet, 
his  letters,  350,  351. 

Tavlor,  Mrs.,  relations  to  Mill,  53- 
55. 

Telegraphy:  under  fixed  law,  228; 
affecting  letters,  324,  325,  331, 
361 ;  anecdote,  326. 

Telephone,  illustration,  336. 

Temper,  destroys  friendship,  112, 
118. 

Temperance,  sometimes  at  war  with 
hospitality,  102-104. 

Tenderness,'  in  letters,  320,  322. 

Tennyson  :  study  ef  past  literature, 
13;  line  about  brotherhood,  67; 
religious  sentiment  of  In  Memo- 
riam,  198;  loyalty  to  verse,  289; 
Palace  of  Art,"  386",  400. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace : 
Rev.  Cfiarles  Honcyman  in  The 
Newcomes,  203;  Book  of  Snobs, 
242 

Thames  River,  270,  335. 

Theatre:  avoidance,  123;  English 
travellers  like  actors,  242;  gifts 
of  a  painter,  341. 

TMlwne,  Abbayede,  its  motto,  165. 

Thierry,  Augustin,  History  of  Nor- 
man* Conquest,  251,  252. 

Thiers,  Louis  Adolphe,  friendship 
with  Mignet,  120,  121. 

Time,  forgotten  fh  labor,  31,  32. 

Timidity,  taking  refuge  in  corre- 
spondence, 356,  357. 

Titles:  table  precedence,  130;  esti- 
mate in  England  and  on  the  Con- 
tinent, 136,  137;  British  regard, 
241,  242,  248-252 passim;  French 
disregard,  248. 

Tolerance:  induced  by  hospitality, 
99;  of  amusements,  389. 

Towneley  Hall,  library,  318. 

Trade:  English  and  'social  exclu- 
sion, 19;  foolish  distinctions,  132- 
135;  connection  with  national 
peace,  150;  adaptation  of  Greek 


428 


INDEX. 


language,  158;  interference  of  re- 
ligion, 171,  174;  ignorance  about 
English,  265,  266,  268;  Lanca- 
shire, 288;  careless  tradesmen, 
360,  361 ;  slang,  365. 

Translations:  disliked,  154;  of 
Haraerton  into  French,  267. 

Transubstantiation :  private  opinion 
and  outward  form,  169 ;  poetic, 
190.  (See  Roman  Catholicism, 
etc.) 

Trappist,  freedom  of  an  earnest, 
164,  165. 

Travel:  railway  illustration,  13-15; 
marriage  simile,  44;  affecting 
fraternity,  64;  affecting  friend- 
ship, ill;  facilitated,  160:  in 
Arabia,  226;  unsociability  (Essav 
XVII.),  239-252;  in  vans,  261, 
262;  confusion  of  places,  291 ;  dis- 
pensing with  luxury,  300;  an  un- 
travelled  man  301 ;  not  cared  for, 
302;  cheap  conveyances,  304; 
books  of,  305 ;  Goldsmith's,  309. 

Trees,  and  Radicals,  282,  283. 

Trinity,  denial  of,  257. 

Truth^  violations  (Essay  XVI.), 
232-238. 

Tudor  Family:  Mary's  reign,  164; 
criminality',  168;  Mary's  persecu- 
tion, 180. " 

Turkey,  war  with  Russia,  278. 

Turner,  Joseph  Mallord  William, 
aided  by  Claude,  13. 

Tj'pe-writers,  effect  on  correspond- 
ence, 333. 

Tyrannv:  of  religion  (Essay  XII.), 
161-174 ;  meanest  form,  172, 174  ; 
of  majorities,  398. 

ULYSSES  :  literary  simile,  29 ;  Bow 
of,  392. 

Understatement.     (See  Untruth.) 

Union  of  languages  and  peoples, 
148-150. 

Unitarianism :  no  European  sover- 
eign dare  profess,  167,  168;  diffi- 
culty with  creeds,  172;  ignorance 
about,  257. 

United  States,  advantage  of  having 
the  same  language  as  England, 
150. 

Universe,  univers,  273-275. 

Universities:  degrees,  91;  Frerch 
and  English,  275,  276;  Radical 
members,  284. 


Untruth :  an  Unrecognized  Form 
ot  (Essay  XVI.),  232-238 ;  two 
methods  in  painting,  232  ;  exag- 
geration and  diminution,  233: 
self-misrepresentation,  234;  over- 
statement and  understatement  il- 
lustrated in  travelling  epithets, 
235;  dead  mediocrity  in  conver- 
sation, 236;  inadequacy,  237;  il- 
lustration, 238. 

VANITY:  national  (Essay  XIX.), 
204-279  passim  ;  taking  offence, 
279;  absence,  301. 

Vice:  of  classes,  124, 125;  devilish, 
195;  part  of  Bohemianism,  295, 
296 ;  of  best  society,  297. 

Victoria,  Queen :  quotation  from 
her  diarv,  186,  187;  her  oldest 
son,  385* 

Violin,  illustration.  389. 

Viollet-le-Duc,  anecdote,  364. 

Virgil,  Palmer's  constant  compan- 
ion, 313.  (See  Latin.) 

Virgin  Mary,  her  influence,  176. 
(See  Eugenie,  etc.) 

Virtue  :  of  classes,  124, 125;  priest- 
ly adherence,  195;  definition,  208 ; 
Button's  and  Littre's,  211. 

Visiting,  with  rich  and  poor.  139- 
144. 

Vitriol,  in  letters,  371. 

Vituperation,  priestly,  194. 

Vivisection,  feminine  dislike,  180. 

Voltaire:  quotation  about  Colum- 
bus, 274;  Goldsmith's  interview, 
309. 

Vulpius,  Christiane,  relations  to 
Goethe,  52,  53. 

WAGNER,  RICHARD,  his  Tann- 
hauser,  388. 

Wales,  Prince  of.  laborious  amuse- 
ments, 385-387. 

Warcopp,  Robert,  in  Plumpton 
letters,  323,  331. 

Wars:  affected  by  study  of  lan- 
guages, 148-150,  151/160;  Eu- 
genie's influence,  176  ;  divine 
connection,  215-224;  caused  by 
national  ignorance,  277,  278. 

Waterloo,  battle,  153. 

Wave,  simile,  251. 

Wealth:  affecting  fraternity,  60,- 
affecting  domestic  harmony,  77; 
destroying  friendship,  114,  116; 


INDEX. 


429 


Flux  of  (Essav  IX.),  119-129; 
property  variable,  influence  of 
changes,  119;  access  of  bachelors 
and  the  married  to  society,  120; 
instances  of  friendship  affected 
by  poverty,  121;  false  friends, 
122;  imprudent  marriages,  123; 
middle-class  instances  of  content- 
ment, 124 ;  aid  to  refinement,  125; 
dress,  126  ;  cards,  and  other 
forms  of  courtesy,  superfluities, 
127;  discipline  of  courtesy,  128; 
rural  manners  in  France",  12!)  ; 
Differences  (Essay  X.),  130-147; 
social  precedence,  130:  land- 
ownership,  131;  trade,  132-134; 
nouveau  riche  and  ancestry,  135; 
titles,  136, 137 ;  varied  enjoyments, 
138,  139;  hospitality,  140-144; 
English  appreciation,  144-146  ; 
undue  deference,  146,  147;  over- 
statement and  understatement, 
234;  assumption,  242;  plutocracy, 
246,  247;  American  inequalities, 
248;  genteel  ignorance,  258-260; 
two  great  advantages,  297,  298; 
small  measure,  298;  connection 
with  Philistinism  and  Bohemian- 
ism,  299-314;  employs  better 
agents,  359,  360;  connection  with 
amusements,  383-401.  (See  Pov- 
erty, etc.) 

Webb,  Captain,  lost  at  Niagara,290. 

Weeds,  illustration  of  Radicalism, 
282. 

Weimar:  Goethe's  home,  52,  57; 
Duke  of,  57. 

Wenderholme,  Hamerton's  story, 
378. 

Wesley,  John,  choice  in  religion, 
173.  (See  Methodism.) 

Westbrook,  Harriett,  relation  to 
Shelley,  46,  47,  97. 

Westminster  Abbey,  mistaken  for 
another  building,  291. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  story,  277. 

Whist,  selfishness  in,  397. 

William,  emperor  of  Germany,  table 
customs,  103. 

Wine:  connection  with  hospitality, 
101-103,  121;  traders  in  con- 
sidered superior,  133:  ignorance 
about  English  use,  268,  269,  270; 
port,  273 :  concomitant  of  wealth, 
297,  298:  simile,  367.  (See 
Table,  etc.) 


Wives:  a  pitiful  confession,  41; 
George  Eliot's  position,  45,  46; 
relations  to  noted  husbands,  47- 
62 ;  dread  of  a  wife's  kindred, 
73 ;  unions  made  by  parents,  94- 
98;  destroying  friendship,  115, 
116;  tired,  144;  regard  of  Na- 
poleon III.,  225;  old  letters,  322; 
gain  from  post-cards,  329,  330; 
privacy  of  letters,  350;  Mon- 
taigne's letter,  251,  252.  (See 
Marriage,  Women,  etc.) 

Wolf,  priestly,  203. 

Wolseley,  Sir  Garnet,  victory,  222, 
223,  229. 

Wood,  French  use  of,  272. 

Women:  friendship  between  two. 
viii,  ix;  absorption  in  one,  33; 
beauty's  attraction,  33,  38,  39; 
passion  long  preserved,  40;  rela- 
tions to  certain  noted  men,  44- 
62  passim;  sisterly  jealousy,  65; 
governed  by  sentiment,  69  ; 
adding  to  home  discomfort,  75, 
76  ;  English  incivility,  106  ; 
French  incivility  to  English,  and 
defence,  106;  social  acuteness, 
130;  Priests  and  Women  (Essav 
XIII.),  175-204;  dislike  of  tixed 
rules,  175 ;  persuasive  powers, 
ruling  society,  176;  dependence, 
advisers,  177;  love,  178;  gentle- 
ness, 179;  sympathy  with  per- 
secution, 180;  harm  of  both 
frivolity  and  seriousness,  181  ; 
injustice  of  female  sex,  anxiety 
for  sympathy,  182;  sensitiveness, 
183;"  services  desired  at  special 
times,  184;  motherhood,  185  ; 
consolation,  186 ;  aesthetic  na- 
ture, 187;  fondness  for  show, 
188;  dress,  189;  churches,  190; 
worship  in  music,  191;  eloquence, 
192;  eager  for  the  right,  194; 
obstinacy,  195;  association  in 
benevolence,  196;  love  of  cere- 
mony, 197;  festivals,  198;  con- 
fidence in  a  clergyman,  199  ; 
marriage  formerly  "disapproved, 
clergy  women,  200;  relief  in  con-, 
fession,  201,  202;  gentlewomen's 
letters,  205,  206 ;  French,  among 
strangers,  242, 243;  want  of  anal- 
ysis, 280:  strong  theological  in- 
terest. 377-380;  old  maids,  379- 
382;  gentlewomen,  381,  382  ; 


430 


INDEX. 


not  interested  in  sporting  talk, 
399.  (See  Marriage,  Wives,  etc.) 

Word,  power  of  a,  118. 

Wordsworth :  indebtedness  to  the 
poor,  22;  on  Nature's  loyalty.  30; 
instance  of  his  uncleanness,  311. 

Work,  softens  solitude,  31,  32. 

Working-men.  (See Lower  Classes.) 

World,  possible  enjoyment  of,  303. 

Worship:  word  in  wedding-service, 
62;  limited  by  locality,  171-174; 
musical,  191 ;"  expressions  in  let- 
ters, 321. 

Writing,  a  new  discovery  supposed, 
336. 

Wryghame,  message  by,  320. 


Wvcherley,  William,  his  ribaldrv, 
181. 

YACHTING,  258,  259,  292,  358.  (See 
Boatmy. ) 

York :  Minster,  190  ;  archbishop, 
222 ;  diocese,  275. 

Yorkshire,  letter  to,  320. 

Youth  :  contrasted  with  age,  87-89 ; 
nonsense  reproduced  by  Shak- 
speare,  89;  insult,  107;  in  friend- 
ship, 111,  112;  acceptance  of 
kindness,  117;  semblance  caused 
by  ignorance  of  a  language,  151. 

ZEUS,  a  hunter  compared  to,  391. 


TEE   END. 


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"  Its  author  lived  a  year  in  the  Val  Sainte  Veronique,  watching  the  forest  through  all  its 
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But  '  The  Unknown  River,'  '  Chapters  on  Animals,'  and  '  The  Sylvan  Year,'  have  a  sim- 
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I 


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THE  UNKNOWN  RIVER:  An  Etcher's  Voyage  of  Discov- 
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P.  G-  Hamerton.  It  is  not  easy  to  write  soberly  about  this  book  while  fresh  from  its  presence. 
The  subtle  charm  of  the  very  title  is  indescribable  ;  it  lays  hold  in  the  outset  on  the  deepest 
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MR.   HAMERTOWS   WORKS. 


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readable  book.  It  is  not  mere  letter-press  to  illustrations,  or  anything  of  the  kind,  but  a  book 
which,  I  hope,  anybody  who  takes  any  interest  in  landscape  would  be  glad  to  possess.'  .  .  . 
The  subject  is  treated  from  all  sides  which  have  any  contact  with  art  or  sentiment,  —  from  the 
side  of  our  illusions  ;  our  love  for  nature  ;  the  power  of  nature  over  us  ;  nature  as  subjective ; 
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Mountains  are  weighed  in  the  art  balances  ;  lakes,  brooks,  rivulets,  and  rivers  in  their  degrees 
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